


Momentum Building

by stars_inthe_sky



Category: Dollhouse, The Office (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community: het_bigbang, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Mash-up, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/pseuds/stars_inthe_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I didn’t exist for seven years, and when I woke up, the world had ended. And then…I didn’t want to be scared anymore."</i> </p><p>Post-"Casino Night," Pam gets recruited by the Dollhouse. Long after the Call, India runs into an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I will go rolling fast

India opens her eyes into the familiar semidarkness. Business as usual at the end of the world.

She woke with a start, though, which is unusual. Years of this life have left her internal rhythms far more accurate than Romeo’s kitchy 50’s clock, salvaged from a picked-over Wal-Mart near Omaha last summer. She can sleep for a solid six hours when she’s off-duty and perk up as soon as it’s her turn to drive or keep watch. Back at Safe Haven, she can wake up with the sun, regardless of the time of year. Really, it’s a shame she didn’t have this talent back in her nine-to-five days.

The truck grinding to a halt beneath her is worth waking up for, however abruptly. They rarely stop like this without at least a warning over the intercom. She would have heard shooting already if there were Butchers outside, so this probably means an unexpected salvage trip—though whether they’ll find spare parts or stray people is a tossup.

In any case, she’ll need her gun.

Reaching for the rifle wedged between her bunk and the wall, unloaded but always close by, India shakes her head to rouse herself and notices Romeo staring right at her. He’s the only one tall enough to have the lofted cots at eye level, and his tall, skeletal frame looks particularly menacing in the shadows. In another lifetime, she would have been terrified of him.

Now, she just yawns in his face and raises a questioning eyebrow. He had been sleeping in one of the bunks closer to the cab of the semi-trailer truck they call home, so there’s a chance he knows what’s going on.

Equally half-conscious, Romeo grunts, “Broken-down car roadside. Vic thinks he saw a couple of people hide behind it, so probably not Butchers. Wants us to go check it out.”

“The usual? I’m the good cop, you’re the bad cop?”

“Yeah. Maybe one of these days he’ll let me play the good cop. I’ve been wanting to expand my acting range.”

India snorts and lets him pull her to her feet. “Of the two of us, Rome, who was a secretary in the suburbs, and who narrowly avoided prison on drug charges?”

Romeo rolls his eyes. “Fair enough. You’re the good cop. Let’s motor.”

She follows him through the cluttered maze of supply shelves, cots, and tech to the back of the trailer. The rear wall opens in full, but it’s easier to use the door they carved into it. Kilo’s voice crackles over the intercom wired to the corner. “You guys good?”

“We’ll be fine,” India radios back. “Not like we haven’t picked up strays before, in spite of Bad Cop here’s best efforts.”

“I heard that!” Romeo protests, though he’s grinning good-naturedly. The road can get monotonous after a while, so they all welcome an unexpected detour, even if meeting most Actuals tends to be less of an adventure and more of an exercise in demonstrating that they’re not Butchers.

They jog across the cracked four-lane highway to the broken-down sedan on the shoulder. Its hood is open and spewing steam, and at least one of the tires looks flat. There’s no sign of anyone leaving the mess, though—no footprints in the dust or supplies spilled in a rush—so the passengers may close by—presumably in between the car and the Jersey barrier behind it.

Romeo nods at her to start, and India sighs. Explaining that they’re not necessarily dangerous people always ends up being harder than she’d like it to be, though she’s better at it than most of the others. Years of handling immature and bizarrely difficult co-workers were all in preparation for this, apparently. She’s pretty sure Dwight would be proud, once he got over the idea that she’d survived the end times better than he had.

She takes a deep breath and begins the usual spiel. “Hi, um, look—we know you’re over there. I’m India, my friend here is Romeo, and we’re here to help you. I mean, if we were Butchers or we wanted to hurt you, we would obviously have done it already, so…right. If you don’t want help, just say so, and we’ll be on our way. If you do—I mean, we can fix your car, or help you with food or supplies, if you need anything.

“We can also give you a lift—I don’t know where you were going to go, but our home’s a settlement a week or so driving from here. It’s really nice, actually, and we keep it pretty well stocked, and there’s fresh food from the little farm and these—well, we call them deflector shields, like in Star Wars? They ward off whatever stray signals might bounce by, so you’re extra-protected. Or we can take you to a different settlement—we’re in touch with a few others.

“And…I think that’s about it. What do you think?”

There’s a very long, very pregnant pause, and they can half-hear a murmur of conversation coming from behind the car. India slings her gun around to her back, with the strap cutting across her chest, as a show of goodwill. Romeo follows suit and squats, peering under the car. When he rises, he nods in confirmation that there are definitely people behind it.

The tense silence goes on long enough that she’s almost surprised to hear a human voice from behind the wreck.

“Pam?”

It takes a hell of a lot to truly surprise India these days, but she would know that voice anywhere, and it wasn’t one she had expected to hear again. Not even if the Call had never gone out.

She stares at the figure rising from behind the car. There’s no question—it’s him. Or at least, it’s his body. But if he’s recognized her so very far out of context, he’s probably still an Actual, which is a miracle of its own.

“Jim?”

He just gapes at her, without a trace of fear, anger, or anything that isn’t total shock. She knows what he’s seeing—a woman twelve years older than the one he’d known, clad in homemade body armor (mostly scrap metal and athletic guards, affixed to a motorcycle jacket and pants), holding a huge assault rifle, and standing next to a threatening-looking and tattooed ex-drug dealer who’s dressed the same.

And they’re all standing in front of a massive, armored truck, on the side of the highway, without another living thing in sight, after the end of the world, where there’s no guarantees that mind and body are matched.

Romeo whips his head to stare at her, too. “You know this guy?”

“I—we used to work together. Assuming it’s him, I mean.”

“Back in Pennsylvania? When you were a secretary?” He says the last word like it’s almost a joke, like there’s no world (even a post-apocalyptic one) in which a receptionist at a mid-range paper supply firm might end up being, well, India. His tone annoys her, and she turns back to one James Duncan Halpert.

There’s a hiss from behind the car, and Jim glances down and then looks back at India. “What—um. What—name something I got you for Christmas—for Secret Santa. Before. And—and why?”

It’s absolutely him, but she can’t blame him for thinking someone else is in her body, even if she had recognized him. “That last year. You got me a green teapot, because, well, tea. And there were a bunch of things in there, like—the pencil? From that time we blew off work to play mini-golf? And I think there was a ketchup packet—”

Romeo gives her a funny look. “What the hell kind of office did you work in?”

“Paper supply.” She ignores his reaction and tries to think of something the cameras wouldn’t have caught the answer to. “How did you tell me you were transferring to Stamford?”

“I—didn’t.” He’s more blindsided than she had been aiming for, but it was the first thing that had come to mind. He glances down at whoever he’s with and nods wearily.

A woman, dark-skinned with model looks, stands up next to him. She’s probably about Kilo’s age and India’s height, with a head full of tiny braids. She comes around to the other side of the car, with deliberate caution. Jim follows, and then they’re only a few feet from where India and Romeo are standing. The woman is dressed like Jim and most other Actuals they’ve met, in colorless fabrics and worn shoes. They don’t appear to be armed, though appearance is hardly a guarantee of anything these days.

“Who the hell are you guys? Because you don’t exactly look like a secretary,” Jim’s friend asks pointedly. India notices a bulge near her hip that might be a gun. The loose sweater makes it hard to tell, but it also means she can’t get to it faster than India or Romeo will, if they need to.

“Course I don’t, I was a drug-runner in a past life.”

She elbows Romeo. “Shut up, Rome, you’re not helping.” Turning back to the others, she repeats, “We’re here to help. Our settlement—”

“We’ve both had some bad luck with settlements. Why is yours any different?”

Romeo has the decency to sober up and explain. “It’s safer, like India said. Plus, one of our guys is always based there, just in case. Big gun. On your side. And we keep it supplied—food, clothes, whatever we can find in the glorious ruins of corporate America. Other settlements, too—we’ve been stocking up whoever we can find. I think we’re up to like three or four others. And we always teach ‘em medicine, mechanics, combat, whatever…if you’ve been having bad luck with settlements, it’s ‘cause you haven’t been to any of ours.”

There’s another tense moment where the woman seems to be reassessing if she’s about to be shot—Jim is still just gobsmacked—and then, hands on her hips, she asks, “How do we know we can believe that? And trust _you_?” She looks pointedly at India on the last word; so does Romeo, who nods—they both know what the next step is.

In the space of a breath, India’s right arm is around Jim’s neck. Her free hand has his left wrist pinned between his back and her front, and her right knee pushes his shoulder forward and down, making it hard for his right arm to do much of anything to her.

It’s a small relief that she can’t see his face, because the look on his friend’s is enough. She releases her hold after a second and adds, “Because if either of us wanted to hurt you, that’s how fast we could do it.”

“Or our other two friends in the truck,” Romeo adds helpfully. “And they’re not nearly as nice as Indy is.”

The woman does a good job of covering her fear with indigence. “So, what, you’re just going to make us come with you to your little magic homestead?”

“Hell no. Like she said, we’re here to help.”

People rarely believe Romeo when he says that, though, so India jumps back in. “We are. Really. We can give your car a jump, or supplies or whatever, a vaccine, a ride to Safe Haven or somewhere…” She trails off as the two Actuals look back at their wreck of a car. “We can both be expert mechanics. Or navigators, if there’s somewhere specific you’re trying to go.”

As she had Jim in a headlock within the last two minutes, it would probably be a bit much to add that she’s never wanted a stray Actual to accept a ride as badly as she does right now. But it’s tempting, after so long and with so many unanswered questions—and not just the ones she’s curious about with every Actual, like _how on Earth did you survive this long without us?_

He turns back to her and does that familiar shrug-nod thing of assent. “Okay.”

Her heart pounds. “Okay—what? You’ll—you’ll come with us?” He nods.

“ _Jim_ ,” his companion hisses. “What about—”

“There’s gotta be room for him. And the car…Ash, we’re just sitting ducks out here. One pistol isn’t going to get us very far if Butchers or looters show up.”

The woman—Ash?—breathes in deeply, glances back at the car, and nods. “Okay, we’ll come with you. But we have—there’s one more. Anders? Come on out, it’s…it’s okay, I promise.” She doesn’t sound very sure.

The back door of the car opens by what turns to be a white-blond little boy who can’t be more than five. His blue eyes bulge in terror at the sight of India and Romeo, but before he can retreat into the sedan, Ash scoops him up. “They’re friends, okay? Jim knows the nice lady. They’re going to take us somewhere safe, where Butchers can’t hurt us. Okay?”

The boy nods fitfully, and buries his face in Ash’s shoulder. India’s pretty sure that’s the best they’re going to get for now—kids always have extreme reactions to their outfits. She wonders fleetingly where the boy came from, since he certainly doesn’t look like the woman holding him. Maybe he’s Jim’s.

The other woman introduces herself as Ashley while Jim robotically grabs a couple of tattered backpacks and what looks like a First Aid kit from the car. Ashley spares one last glance towards the car before repositioning Anders on her hip and following Romeo back to the truck. He’s grinning with enough satisfaction to make her regret their decision.

Jim lags behind them to walk with India, though he doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t, either—where would she start?

When they reach the truck, Kilo and Victor are waiting by the back, which is now fully open. Though dressed and armed the same, neither looks as scary as Romeo. But with Kilo lounging against the side of the trailer, small and smug, and Victor perched on the edge, every inch the soldier, they make an intimidating portrait.

Victor smiles and launches into his usual friendly greeting. “Welcome to, well, our truck. We don’t have a name for it—”

“The _Enterprise_ ,” Kilo pipes up.

“Yank and me liked the _Black Pearl_ ,” Romeo interrupts.

India jumps in with her preferred “ _Haven One_.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Okay, we don’t _agree_ on a name for it. Anyway, welcome. Most people call us techheads, but we do in fact respond to our individual names—I’m Victor, this is Kilo, and you met Romeo and India already.”

“I’m Ashley. That’s Jim. And this is Anders,” Ashley says when he pauses, nodding at the still-shaking kid in her arms.

Victor closes the space between them and smiles at Anders. “Hi, Anders. We’re really glad you’re here. How old are you—four?”

Anders shakes his head and buried his face in Ashley’s shoulder again, but he holds up five fingers.

“Wow, five?” Victor grins. “You’re going to love Safe Haven. I’ve got—well, there’s another kid there, right about your age. His name is T, and I know he’s going to be really excited to have a friend. Does that sound fun?”

Anders slowly turns and nods, and although he’s still bug-eyed, he’s shaking less. Ashley mouths _thank you_ and smiles a little.

“So, our trip back to Safe Haven should be about four or five days,” Victor continues, buoyed by the exchange. “Unless there was somewhere else specific you wanted to go?” Jim and Ashley shake their heads. “We get pretty good mileage on this thing, but we try not to push her too hard with the fuel supply, even with the solar panels.  Although timing depends on how often we stop, anyway.”

Jim asks, “What would we be stopping for? I thought you had supplies.”

“We do, but if we pass somewhere worth salvaging from, we’re either gonna raid it, or check if it’s worth our time to come back to. At minimum, we need to empty the john. And if there’s an okay body of water somewhere, we’ll stop to bathe—you can, too. You’ll see it’s pretty tight quarters here, so it can start to stink pretty quick.

“Once we get rolling, I’ll be driving, Romeo is on guard duty up in the crow’s nest—” he points at the gap above Kilo—“and the ladies will help you get settled in. Dunno if Indy mentioned our vaccine, but we have a vaccine, if you’re worried about getting wiped or printed…which most people are, obviously, so strays usually want that.

“You’re welcome to come up to the cab—there’s a crawlspace through to the trailer—or the crow’s nest as long as someone’s with you. Basically…stay out of the way and don’t touch anything. Don’t press any buttons, don’t flip any switches, just—we know what we’re doing, and we’re good at it. We’ll set you up with provisions, but please don’t go grabbing stuff—everything’s rationed for a reason, and we need to make sure we have enough since we weren’t expecting extra mouths to feed. Our job is to keep you safe, but we can’t do that if you mess with our protocols.

“And, I’m sure you guys have a lot of questions. Kilo and Indy are going to do their best to answer them for you. Otherwise, you’re free to do whatever. We have some books, a few places to sleep, and, yeah, just ask if there’s anything else you need. Guys, let’s move out.”

He disappears in a single, swift movement, followed by Romeo, and Kilo motions for the others to follow her inside.

Ashley and Jim glance at each other, and after a few silent gestures and head jerks, she follows Kilo with Anders, and he turns hesitantly to India. She smiles, feeling truly shy for the first time in a while, and climbs in. Once he’s inside, too, she cranks the trailer shut, and the engine starts. Neither of them moves.

For the first time since Casino Night, they’re alone together.

She lets him make the first move, not wanting him to think she’s going to put him in a headlock again. He has a couple of false starts, and then, of all the questions he could possibly ask— _what the heck is going on? Where did you disappear to in 2006? Why did you tell me “no” and leave Roy anyway? What are you doing here?_ —he chooses, “What happened to your face?”

India’s hand goes automatically to her right cheek, where a small array of triangular metal studs fan out in an arc about her ear. “They’re ports. They’re like—plugs. Or USB ports, like on a computer? They go to this.” She holds out her right wrist, pulling back her jacket sleeve enough to show him the disc-shaped tech strapped to it.

“And then these”—she holds up the string of drives around her neck—“plug into it.”

He looks thoroughly confused, so she demonstrates. In a swift, practiced motion, she switches out _Weapons Expert_ (always the default print) for _Auto_ (since it’s her turn to drive next anyway). She shakes off the half-second the wipe-and-print takes and explains to a no-less-confused Jim, “See? The tech—it wipes just a piece my brain, and then replaces it with, you know, mechanical skills or medical knowledge or sharpshooting or whatever I need. When we all joined up with Victor, we just wiped a section to make some room, and then now…”

“You…you just let yourself get wiped? And printed? Voluntarily?”

“Well, yeah. And no, not—just partially. I still have all my memories and everything. I just let them take stuff that didn’t matter, like how to draw, or four years of Dunder Mifflin shenanigans and—”

Now he just looks angry. And horrified. “Have you been _out there_? Do you know what happened to the whole world, Pam?”

“Wha—yeah, of course I do, I’ve been at the center of it since—”

“Our selves—that’s the only thing any of us Actuals have left. And you just gave it up? For this? So—so, what, you could play Rambo with those guys in what’s left of the world?”

Anger seeps across her skin, cool and metallic. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I made the choices I made for a reason—you don’t get to just show up on _my_ truck and—”

“ _You_ came for _us_.”

“ _You_ came _with_ us.”

“Because I thought I was going to get to see Pam Beesley again, not—whoever the hell ‘India’ is. I thought—”

“You thought after twelve years, that, what, that I’d just be waiting around at my computer playing Minesweeper? I know you thought—what you thought, but I’m—I’m not, okay? I didn’t then, and now—”

“Not what? Didn’t what?”

“Need you to save me!”

He pivots and storms off without a response, and her first thought, however uncharitable, is, _How far away from me do you think you’re going to get, exactly?_

She stands there for a full minute, staring at the space he vacated and shaking with suppressed rage. Who is he to question her choices? She’s heard his line of argument before—they all have—but how dare he not even let her explain? She’s been through hell as much as any person who’s still a person. She didn’t pick this life to be a superhero and feel badass, though it’s admittedly a neat side effect. And she had wanted him to get to see her again, to see that she’s not scared anymore, and her defaults aren’t set to _I can’t_.

She had wanted to tell him how a week didn’t go by in the last six years that she didn’t think about him and wish she’d left things differently. That she has a purpose, here and now, and she wants so badly to show the one person from Before who’d ever believed in her that there was a good reason to do that. That, staring into the end of the world, she still had whatever he’d seen in her back then. That she could save herself, and that she’d done it.

It’s not that big a truck, so hopefully she’ll have the chance to explain things. And if he can’t understand why she’s India now, well, he and Priya will be great friends.

She shakes her head, which does absolutely nothing to clear it, and stomps through the trailer, curving around the tech workspace to avoid the cots, where she can hear Kilo explaining the beginnings of the Rossum Corporation in a mock-spooky voice. She crawls into the driver’s cab, where Victor glances at her in surprise before looking back at the road.

“Everything okay? I thought heard shouting.”

“No.” She exhales sharply. “Can I drive for a while? I need something else to think about besides arguing with the newbies.”

Without taking his eyes off the windshield, he raises an eyebrow. “You?  Seriously?”

She slumps onto the bench next to him. “It’s—I used to work with Jim. Before. In Pennsylvania.”

“Ah.” Victor fiddles with a dial for a few seconds. “He’s that guy, isn’t he? The one you left your fiancé for, that—”

“How did you—what, is there like a mind-reading print no one gave me?”

He chuckles, “It’s all over your face. I had ‘coworkers’ I watched die in foxholes in the Sandbox that couldn’t get me as worked up as you look.”

The corners of mouth twitch. “I have a pretty bad poker face, huh?”

“And don’t let anyone tell you different. So, what, he didn’t think you were the same old girl?”

“Pretty much. And then there was yelling.”

Victor sighs. “Well, look who you’re talking to, right?”

India stares at her hands. “Sorry.” At least she doesn’t have a kid in the middle of this.

“Eh, I made my choice. Priya made hers. I keep making the choice because I believe with everything I got that this is the best thing we can do for whoever’s left. She doesn’t think so, obviously. And it sucks. Burns every time we leave. But this is who I am, and it’s what _I_ choose. If she can’t get on board…well, then we didn’t have anything that was going to last anyway.”

“But—every other time we’re back there, you…fall back together. And then yell a bunch anyway.” __

“I didn’t say I stopped loving her. I didn’t. Shit, I loved her when neither of us even existed. And T…he _should_ stay away from me. From us. But I can’t not do this _thing_ , this mission out here. Because being the guy who didn’t—that wouldn’t be me. The one she fell for in the first place.”

“So, what? I don’t get to…make things right between us, even? He’s just going to be mad, and I don’t…”

“I didn’t say _that_. I met the guy for about a minute and a half less than an hour ago. And for what it’s worth, remember that it’s not like he knows the first thing about any of this. But, look. With me and Priya—it keeps happening, because, if it’s the person you love? You never stop thinking you’re going to get it right.”

She bites her lip. “I don’t even know…he could’ve changed how he felt about me even back then. I don’t even know if he, or I—it’s not like we were anything besides friends before.”

“Then start there.” Victor shakes his head and yawns. “In the meantime, drive. It’s getting dark and I’m still wiped from that strip mall thing yesterday. So the wheel’s all yours if you want it.”

She smiles her thanks and scoots into the driver’s seat. He claps her on the shoulder as he makes his way out.

The next several hours are lost in the rhythm and constant state of attentiveness that driving a semi at night takes. An hour or two before dawn, she stifles a huge yawn and punches the intercom. Romeo comes to relieve her. “Watch where you step,” he adds, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Your friend’s on the floor—he was too big for the cots.”

Tiptoeing around a sleeping Jim Halpert isn’t exactly how India imagined today would end, but he’s curled in a tight ball on a pile of salvaged winter coats in spite of the space. Kilo and Ashley have each passed out on a bunk bed, with Anders nestled under Ashley’s arm, which means Victor’s now in the crow’s nest and there’s an open bed for India. She balls up her jacket inside out for a pillow, and falls asleep, gun in hand, hoping no one needs her for at least a few hours.


	2. Arms out in the rain

India wakes up automatically some six hours later, not to a sudden stop but to the smell of coffee. One bonus of having instant expert mechanical knowledge is the ability to jury-rig a Mr. Coffee to run off the truck’s power, and while India has always preferred tea, the machine is a must some days.

The space around her is empty, except for a sleeping Victor on the bed where Kilo had been. She peers cautiously over the edge of her mattress, and sees Jim attending to the operation below her lofted cot. She watches him silently for a minute. Yesterday’s torrent of emotion seems to have faded, and he looks at peace with the simple task of switching filters. She wonders when he’d last done that.

He turns and meets her eyes, and she shrinks back onto the bed, feeling nervous and a little apologetic. He returns to the coffee maker and she stretches herself the rest of the way to wakefulness. When she sits up and swings her legs over the edge, he’s standing there, even taller than Romeo and proffering a steaming clay mug. “I don’t know if you’re a coffee fan these days, but since everyone keeps telling me not to touch anything, I can’t actually look for, like, a tea bag, so…”

She accepts his peace offering with a chuckle.  “There’s a stash buried under the filters. But it’s a coffee kind of day, anyway.” It’s too hot to sip, so she blows lightly on it and asks where everyone else went.

“Kilo’s driving and Romeo—that can’t be his real name, can it? He took Ashley and Anders up to the crow’s nest to watch.”

“Oh. He’s a cute kid. Sorry if we scared him.”

“To be honest, you guys kind of scare _me_.”

She reddens with a mix of anger and embarrassment and stares down into the mug before she notices the ghost of a familiar smile on his face. “Ha-ha, Halpert.”

Jim shrugs. “He’s scared of pretty much everything, anyway. Watched his mother get Butchered a couple of months before I found him and Ashley, kind of like you guys found us. Apparently Anders’s dad was never really in the picture or anything, so it was just them. They were friends—Ashley and Anders’ mom, I mean—and she thinks they’re the only ones who got out of their settlement, you know, intact, once they got hit.”

India shuddered—she’s heard hundreds of stories like this one, lived through more than a few, and they never get less horrific. “So that’s what she meant about having bad luck with settlements.”

“Yeah, though I could say the same. I’d been roaming around on my own for probably four months before I met them. Three different places I was staying at went under, almost everyone I knew with them, and then it just didn’t seem worth it to find another one.”

“Butchers?”

“At the last one and on the Amish farm, yeah. The one in the middle just had tuberculosis epidemic or something—one of those things no one’s immune to anymore. My friend Halima and I were the only ones who got out of there, and then she got wiped at the next place.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Safe Haven isn’t like that, I promise. There’s another one of us, Yankee—he’s back there now. One of us always stays, so there’s a medic on hand, or…whatever.”

“Right, yeah, Kilo filled us in last night. With that, and Rossum, and the Dollhouse, and everything. It’s, um, a lot to adjust to on short notice, but—well, I’m sorry about yesterday, anyway. I shouldn’t have…”

She smiles a little more. “No, you shouldn’t have. But, I should’ve explained better—you’re not the first Actual to think we’re, like…”

“Scary?”

“Or something. Anyway, I’m sorry, too. What did she tell you?”

His shrug is typically exaggerated, and the way he runs his hang through his shaggy hair is painfully familiar, too. “What Rossum did—what the Call meant, how the tech works, why the world ended. And then what you guys do. She didn’t get into too much personal stuff, except she explained how she ended up in the Dollhouse, I guess. She said everyone else’s story was their own to tell.”

India nods. “Like you said, all we’ve got most days is ourselves. And everybody who ended up in the Dollhouse was pretty screwed up, one way or another, so we all have different ways of dealing. You’ll meet Yankee when we get back—he hardly talks about, you know, Before. Romeo thinks he just cut out those memories along with whatever came with his Ph.D. in philosophy, but he’d be the only one who really knows.”

Jim cocks his head, confused. “But—Pam. The last time I saw you was, what, a month before you disappeared? And you were…you. Not especially screwy.”

“It was an eventful month.” And now she can’t meet his eyes again. But he doesn’t respond, and she had promised herself long before yesterday that she wouldn’t hide in silences anymore. So she continues, if hesitantly, “My, uh, best friend dropped a bomb on me, then skipped town. And I called off my wedding and didn’t know what I had left going for me in life. I guess I’m not as screwed up as some of the others, but I managed.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin your life.”

It’s a sock in the gut, but that’s not entirely his fault. “Jim, you didn’t. You—well, I probably wouldn’t have survived the Call, what with being the receptionist, but—well, I wish I’d handled it differently, but I wish you had, too.” At his reproachful look, she adds, “You just…left. No goodbye, no—you didn’t even blame me, you were just gone. And I was with him for ten years! You knew me for almost half of them, and I watched you date so many other people, with no indication—”

He stares at her with big, sad eyes. “Pam, _everything_ was an indication.”

“You gave me five minutes to decide! Five minutes, when you had like five _years_ to think about—”

“Like I said,” he half-mumbles. “Sorry if I ruined your life.”

“But you didn’t ruin my life. You—saved it. Maybe in kind of a backwards way.”

“Yesterday you said you didn’t need saving.”

“Well…you helped me save myself, anyway. And that was the first time I felt like I had any control of, I don’t know, my destiny? Like things didn’t have to be the way they were. It took a while to process—I mean, even after they woke me up—but I’m not sorry. Maybe for being dumb enough to get recruited for what was supposed to be an experimental memory therapy thing, but that was all me. Anyway, I don’t want to fight with you again, especially not about mistakes we made, like, twelve years ago.”

He resolutely stares into his coffee cup and spends several seconds concentrating very hard on sipping from it. Finally, he asks, “How did they find you? The Dollhouse, I mean.”

“Remember that documentary crew? They were there for like a year before—”

“Yeah, of course. They stayed until…well, as far as I know they were still there when the Call went out.”

She freezes, a thought occurring to her for the first time. “No one else—nobody else disappeared like I did…did they?”

“Not that I know of…I mean, everyone was still in Scranton when I got back, and I would’ve known about personnel changes after I moved up to Corporate…”

“Wait, what?”

“The documentary guys recruited you?”

“The documentary company was owned by Rossum—it was a cover to find potential Dolls. They decided I was sad and isolated enough, found the right pitch to get me, and…well, I’ve seen my file. They tweaked my actual self and then had fake-me go quit my job and tell my parents I was going on a road trip. And then they kinda had me to do…whatever.” She shudders. Figurative mental compartmentalization is easier when your mind is already literally compartmentalized, but it doesn’t make the knowledge of what was done to her, and to her body, much easier to bear consciously. “Wait, but—you went back to Scranton? Do you know what happened—my parents—?”

He shifts in his seat. “Well, I mean, they had the police looking for you. They found your car and your cell phone at some motel near Philly, but there was no sign of a struggle, nothing in it, and it’s not like they had any other leads. I mean, Roy went nuts—got a DUI, Darryl almost had to fire him. Michael and Dwight started their own manhunt, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But, I mean…that was it. They didn’t know where to look. Your mom called me once, but…I didn’t know anything, either. And then the Stamford branch closed, so some of us ended up back in Scranton. And it was…really weird, without you, but easier, I guess, with how everything…ended. With us,” he concludes glumly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. But…like you said, it was a long time ago.”

She sips her own coffee, which is now bordering on lukewarm. “Yeah.”

“And this is who you are now. Sorry, I really—I couldn’t imagine you were still alive even before the Call, not after you disappeared like that. And then even if you were—I don’t know, I expected more _Little House on the Prairie_ , less Sarah Connor.”

It’s kind of a funny comment, but he sounds as glum and resigned as he had in that parking lot. And she’s not repeating that night. Not now, not in this life. And he deserves to know why.

“Jim, I—before I joined up, I was just at Safe Haven, farming and trying to survive like anyone else. And then there was this Butcher that showed up out of nowhere. We were in the vegetable garden. I got back to the house, to where the shotgun was, but I couldn’t load it or aim it fast enough or anything. I was just so, so scared, I couldn’t…And I watched him break Abby’s neck like it was celery, and all I could do was just stand there shaking while he came at the house, and then Priya showed up and shot him—Priya, who was eight months pregnant, and she’s barely better with a gun than I was then.

“And I was just _there_ , and terrified, and I couldn’t move, and all I could think was that my friend was dead, and this pregnant woman was firing guns, and it was all because I was still just this lost little girl who’s been sad and scared enough to get suckered into Rossum in the first place.”

“Pam—”

“No, just—just listen. This is what I _chose_. I didn’t exist for seven years, and when I woke up, the world had ended. And then…I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I can do something only a few other people cando. I’m not ‘India’ because I’m somebody else; I’m India because I’m more than just Pam Beesley. I can _help_ people. I can try to save whoever’s left out there like I couldn’t save Abby, and I can try to teach them all the stuff I couldn’t learn before.

“And if the sacrifice is a bunch of stupid, meaningless things like Michael Scott’s Social Security Number and whatever happened that night before you and I ended up eating grilled cheese and dancing on the roof that time—”

“You—you remember that?”

Of all the pieces to pick out of her back-story, that wasn’t the one she’d expected. “Yeah, of course I do. It—that was a fun night.”

“I thought you said you took out all your Dunder-Mifflin stuff to make room for”—he gestures vaguely at the assortment of drives around her neck—“that.”

“I— _trivia_ , yeah. The stuff that didn’t matter, like how to work that copier, or—I don’t know, stupid stuff. Like what happened before the roof. But not you! I couldn’t—you don’t give up the things the matter. The stuff that makes you who you are.”

“Oh.” The expression on his face is warming a little, like the fact that after all this time he still matters to her means maybe he’s not scared and angry, maybe this doesn’t have to be Casino Night and Victor-and-Priya all rolled into one. There’s something in the air that’s at once new and familiar, and before she can pinpoint it, the intercom crackles to life.

Kilo, with her perfect timing, has picked that moment to trill, “Everyone, we have a Code Blue. Repeat: Code Blue.” India jumps up, jacks in _Weapons Expert_ automatically, and starts pulling her jacket back on.

“What’s a Code Blue?” Jim asks with alarm.

“Water,” Victor, awake and alert to a point that she wonders if he’d been eavesdropping, replies. “It means she saw a pool, or a lake, or something, and once we do a security sweep we can cool off for a couple of hours.”

That was obviously not the answer Jim had expected—after years of bad news on top of disaster scenarios, most Actuals didn’t have a strong grasp on “relaxation.”

Victor moves so fast that by the time India makes it to the open door with Jim, Kilo is bouncing on her heels with excitement, and even Anders looks more eager than scared. As soon as the guys signal they’ve finished their sweep, they’re out the door.

The water in question turns out to be a small, man-made lake. The truck is pulled up next to a small shelter with what had once been a public bathroom (and still smells like one), blocking them and the lake off from the view of anyone coming at them by land.

Kilo and Romeo strip to down to their underwear and practically shove each other off the ragged dock that extends out from shore. It might have held a few small boats at one point, but they’re long gone. Ashley follows suit before long, and encourages Anders to do the same; Victor joins them as soon as India signals that she’ll keep watch.

She feels entirely too self-conscious to strip down in front of Jim, but she does shed her jacket, boots, and pants in the heat of the middle of the day. The gun stays on, over her black tank top and spandex shorts. She takes a seat in one of the lakeside Adirondack chairs, which are far from clean and possibly rotting but stable enough, and is surprised when Jim sits next to her.  He’s holding his sweater and wearing a t-shirt that’s so worn it’s impossible to tell what size or color it was supposed to be originally.

He’s also starting unabashedly at her legs. They’re admittedly pretty nice legs—she’s in the best shape of her life, has eaten mostly rationed and natural food for the last several years, and has a tan from breaks spent lounging on the roof of the trailer with Kilo. She’s just not used to Jim—or anyone, really—looking at her quite like that. His eyes travel up her body and he doesn’t seem to notice that she is very aware of his gaze until their eyes meet.

He turns beet-red. “Sorry, I—you’re really—you—I’m not going to get out of this one, am I?”

She just laughs—the sunshine makes everything happier, and the sound of her friends splashing in the water is nice background noise. She’s comfortable and content and takes that rare moment to lie back in her chair, eyes closed.

The air is fresh and quiet, and maybe she’s imagining things, but there might even be a bird chirping somewhere. She breathes in deeply, takes a moment to scan for danger just in case, and turns to look at Jim, who’s speaking.

“I can’t remember the last time I did something like this,” he admits. “All the settlements I went to, you were pretty much working or eating or sleeping. Even the Amish farm.”

India blinks. “Amish farm? Like—with Dwight? That’s how you survived after the Call?”

“If only,” he snorts, though then his tone shifts. “No, I was—well, I was living in New York by then, and Karen and I were taking the long way around to go visit my parents for a few days, and after the Call…well. We were in some roadside diner, I don’t even remember where, and our cell phones were actually in the car, but when it came, the waitress just walked up behind her and bashed her head in with a pitcher and then broke her neck.”

She knows a change in subject when she hears one, and doesn’t ask who Karen was. “I can’t even imagine.”

“A few of us made it out okay. Got in my car and just floored it until we ended up in Lancaster, and this couple—the Yoders—they took us all in. Spent two years living with them, working on their farm, all that. It was—well, the Amish part was weird, but the settlement wasn’t really touched at all by the Call until a huge swarm of Butchers came through. And then they—they wouldn’t get in the car with us to keep running…” He shivers and falls silent for a moment. “I did have an amazing beard, though. Suspenders, the whole look.”

She giggles, and Jim shrugs. “Eh, it was easier to blend in. Kind of. Totally freaked out the people at the settlement we found after, even more than Halima’s _hijab_ , so I got rid of that. I can still make a mean wooden chair, though.”

“I bet! Dwight _would_ be proud.”

They fall back into an easy silence until there’s an ear-piercing scream from the other side of the bathroom shelter.

She’s on her feet in the space of breath, and scans the people in the water, counting.

“It’s Anders!” Ashley comes staggering out the water. “It’s Anders, he went to pee, he must have gone around, he gets nervous in front of people—”

India’s already running, rifle in hand and ready. Around the back is Anders, fallen to the ground a handful of yards beyond the building and surrounded by half a dozen figures that are menacingly circling him—fast enough that if she shoots, he could be the one she hits, _Weapons Expert_ or not. Perfect aim can’t account for Butchers’ erratic tendencies. Every pack of them seems to have different programming. But the dead look in each pair of eyes is enough to confirm what they are.

There’s no time to think, but she’s not trained to think—not with the right imprint, at least. She charges at the pack, switching out _Weapons Expert_ for _Martial Arts_ as she runs, and cracks the nearest Butcher over the head with the butt of her gun. It goes down, and she hits the next one with a swift uppercut to the chin followed by a roundhouse kick to the head. She hears its neck snap back, and by now she’s got the others’ attention.

The next closest Butcher is male, and reacts like any human male would after a knee to the groin followed by a head-butt. A side-kick to the chest knocks it over, and suddenly there’s a quick series of gunshots and four of the Butchers lie bleeding—the three she’s downed, plus one of the others. She whirls around just in time to see Romeo and Victor trying to aim at the last two, who won’t stop moving, before Kilo clouds her vision and bellows, “Roll!”

India crouches automatically, flattening her back enough for Kilo to roll across and kick the next Butcher in the neck. She doesn’t even need to hear the thump of another body to know her friend has succeeded, though it’s reassuring. Two more gunshots, and the last Butcher is down, too.

It’s only then she lets out a breath of relief and realizes she’s been barefoot and unarmored this entire time. Victor and Romeo cheer, and Kilo offers her a high-five, which she returns, grinning. Ashley and Jim are staring in unmitigated surprise, and Anders slowly sits up, too awed that he’s unharmed to be scared.

“That was great, Indy,” Victor says, still grinning. “But let’s get a move on in case these guys have any friends in the area, yeah?”

Ashley runs over and scoops up Anders.  “You _always_ stay near me or Jim. _Always_.” Victor joins her for what sounds like a medley of berating and comfort as everyone grabs clothing and heads back to the truck.

By the chairs, India has her pants back on and is lacing up the boots when Jim appears next to her. He stoops to grab his sweater and says, “Pam, that—that was amazing. If you hadn’t—you saved him.”

“Just doin’ my job, ma’am” she drawls with a mock salute. “But seriously, like I said—this is what we _do_. It—it seemed like an okay trade.”

“Yeah—yeah, I’ll say. Just—thank you.”

She smiles and lets him carry her jacket, although she makes him walk ahead of her so she can do a better job of scanning for danger than she had been before. Not that the Butchers had given any indication of their presence before Anders had screamed. It’s possible they wouldn’t have even been bothered if he hadn’t gone around the back and been seen. Still, now those six wouldn’t hurt any more people who were still human.

They’re the last ones back to the truck, though the others are standing just outside of it, still in various stages of undress as they try to dry off. She follows Jim back on board, and as soon as they’re both a few yards in and have a small measure of privacy, he turns to look at her.

“Pam. Before—you said you didn’t erase things that mattered. And you said you wished—that you wished you’d handled it differently, you know, that night.” He takes a deep breath. “And you didn’t marry Roy. And you’re _here_ , and I’m here, and somehow we’re both still, like, us…”

She’s been waiting twelve years (or six, depending on how she counts) for a second chance. She’s pretty sure this is it. “What are you trying to say, Jim?”

“What happened after Casino Night? Before the Dollhouse and everything, I mean.”

There isn’t a good answer—how can she put into words the pain of losing him, of being so sure he would hate her forever? Of realizing that life with just Roy wasn’t enough if he wasn’t in it? Of calling off her wedding and feeling simultaneously like she’d saved her own life and ended it?

It was the latter feeling that Rossum had capitalized on, but it was the former one that mattered now. It was also a feeling that had surfaced only once, before or since—after she had volunteered to join Victor and the others and given her life a purpose for the first time. She’d thought of Jim then, too.

Finally, she just admits, “I called off my wedding because of you.” He inhales sharply, and the glimmer of hope in his eyes gives her confidence enough to charge forward.

“I shouldn’t have been with Roy, and there were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding. But the truth is, I didn’t care about any of those reasons until I met you. And I was so sure you hated me, and so scared to—to say anything, after I’d gotten it so wrong before, and you’d left. And then the Dollhouse, and the world ended, and everything, but…there’s not a day I haven’t missed you. You were my best friend before you went to Stamford. And I’ve—I’ve never had anyone else like you in my life, ever, and…I missed you. And I decided when I started _this_ that I would be more honest, and I would tell people what I want. And I wouldn’t be scared any more, and—”

He breaks off what’s quickly become babbling by kissing her.

It is everything and nothing like their last kiss. He’s hopeful and tender but not tentative, and he’s cupping her face with his enormous hands in just the same way. In spite of the time and the apocalypse and the world around them, he smells and feels and tastes so wonderfully _Jim_. It’s about all India can do to respond in kind, because the next ten minutes are going to be different this time.

The difference starts with muffled squeals and catcalls coming from behind her. Jim breaks the kiss and stares over her shoulder, where of course all the others are. Her friends, though, she can handle. “You guys done sunbathing yet? Can we get a move on here?”

Kilo pats her shoulder as she saunters past. “Sure thing. And you’re driving, lady.”

India whips her head around. “What? I drove all night.”

“Yeah, on Vic’s shift. And then Romeo took your watch shift while you were sleeping after, so the whole rotation’s a little fucked, and you’re definitely up.” Victor at least has the decency to look a little guilty as he nods in confirmation.

She glances at Jim. “Come with me? There’s room for you to sit, and I’m pretty okay at multitasking.” She heads for the cab before anyone can volunteer any more opinions—just because she can handle them doesn’t mean she wants to.


	3. Feel momentum building

He follows her and waits silently while she grabs the _Auto_ print and gets the thing moving.

“Would you—there’s a pillow by your feet to stuff in the crawlspace? I’d rather not have them all eavesdropping…”

As Jim moves to do so, he asks, “Was that okay? I thought so, but I wasn’t—”

“Definitely okay. I mean, I—I’ve been waiting a long time for a second chance and—”

“I didn’t want you to feel, I don’t know, although I guess you could probably flatten me if you didn’t want to—”

“I just don’t want to mess things up again, and, well, maybe it’s good it’s my turn to drive, so we can just talk, and—”

They realize at the same time that they’re talking over each other and burst out laughing. She looks back at the cracked highway rolled out before them and grins. “So, safe to say…maybe there could be more kissing when my shift is over?”

“Oh, definitely. Just—how long is your shift, anyway?” He sounds surprised and delighted by her forwardness, but then he’s only just getting to know Fancy New High-Tech Beesley.

“Six hours,” she replies and at his sound of protest adds, “But I should be back on rest after, so…well, not that there’s much privacy around here, but at least I won’t be driving.”

“Okay, so…what happens now? Actually, I don’t even know what happens when we get back to your Safe Haven.”

“Well…you and Ashley and Anders can stay there—or not, I guess—and do the farming thing. We’ll be in and out on supply runs and things. Usually the truck’s back every three weeks or so. Depends on how far we go out to restock, and which other settlements we’re stopping by to supply.”

“So…I’d see you, like, every three weeks or so?”

“Well, yeah, but there are five of us. Since the thing with Abby, and since I joined, we always have someone staying back. Adelle—you’ll meet her—she’s in charge, but it’s good to have someone to know what’s going on with the crops and fix things and play doctor and all. And so every fourth trip—Victor hasn’t stayed in years—I’ll be on shore leave. So…then we’ll have a lot of time. That’s why you should stay there. It’s the safest place for an Actual to be. And we’re not nearly as regular at the other settlements we help out. I guess we have them all pretty secure at this point, but Safe Haven’s pretty much our base.”

“Okay, so, I’ll stay there. I mean, unless I could stay with you…?” She shakes her head. “Or you could just stay back all the time? If you have enough people here—”

“I can’t—I can’t do that.” She doesn’t want to shoot him down when they’re just starting out, but there’s no place for an Actual on the truck, besides as a stray going home. Yet the look on his face is entirely rooted in the past, and she wants so badly not to break his heart again. “Not because of you! Oh my God, no, I’m just…I need to be out here, sometimes. We all get restless when we’re in one place for too long. And this is where we make the biggest difference, and…this is what we _do_. What we’re made to do, you know?

“And I, I want to be with you, but…when I called off my wedding, I tried to tell myself I was going to start doing things for _me_ and being the person I wanted to be. And when I started doing this, it was the first time I actually felt like I was living up to that. All the mistakes I made before were because I was trying to be something that someone else wanted me to be, or what I thought I was supposed to, and I can’t not do this thing, just give up my whole life because I’m in love with you.”

She hadn’t meant to say _that_ out loud but doesn’t take it back—it’s true, she meant it, and hadn’t he already said so?

“You’re in love with me?”

“Well…yeah. I don’t just make out with every stray we pick up…”

“No, I just mean—I’ve been waiting, like, half my life to hear you say that.”

“And?”

“Lives up to the hype.”

India grins. “I _really_ wish I didn’t have to be driving right now.”

“Me too. Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Getting the ports put on was insanely painful, yes. No, my face doesn’t hurt, although when they were making room for everything they took out some of my…I don’t know, ability to feel pain, so that helps.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask, although, uh, good to know? I just—the others all call you India, right?”

“Yeah. Or Indy, mostly.”

“Is that what they call you at Safe Haven, too?”

“Yep.”

“…can I still call you Pam?”

If he keeps making her smile like this, her face _will_ start to hurt. “I’d really like it if you did.”

“Okay, then…Pam.” He scoots closer to her on the bench so their arms are touching. “Wait, so, this tech can mess with your pain tolerance?”

“Yeah! It’s really cool, when it’s not, like, evil. One time they made Echo be a nursing mother—like, actually nursing—and another time she was blind…Basically, your brain controls everything, and if the wipe or the print is detailed enough, you can do whatever a human body can do. I can explain it better when I have the right print in, but obviously, not so much now.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, Beesley!”

“Well, as much as I want to crash and kill us all to answer your question…”

He rests his head on her shoulder, lightly enough not to interfere with her driving, but it’s distracting and sweet and comfortable enough to silence the banter for a moment.

***

The next six hours waft by, feeling near-timeless in their quiet after the events of the last couple of days. No one bothers them (though there might have been a scuffle and the muffled sounds of Victor telling someone off). After a dozen years and half a lifetime of misunderstandings, they can finally just talk openly.

She tells him how free she’d felt after leaving Roy, and how badly she’d hoped Rossum could help her deal when she thought she’d lost Jim for good on top of the future she’d anticipated for so long. She remembers waking up in the L.A. Dollhouse after closing her eyes years before in New York. The months spent underground and coming to terms with the shards of her life and with the burnt remains of the entire world. Discovering the invisible extent of traumas of the Dollhouse that she doesn’t remember and tracing the physical scars they left behind. Forging friendships with the few others who could understand. Having a brief taste of safety in the open, abandoned American southwest before watching Abby die.

She tells him about facing Priya’s harsh judgment after becoming a techhead, feeling caught in the middle of somebody else’s argument, and the sting of it whenever she was in the same room as Victor and her onetime friend. Learning how to use the tech on her face and at her fingertips and in her mind—and finding out that just because she could shoot straight didn’t mean she was automatically ready to do violence, though it helped. Her life had had a steep learning curve, but she had earned her abilities, one way or another.

And she tells him that in spite of Priya and other’s black-and-white views, and having strangers be terrified of her, even not being able to draw anymore, that it’s worth it. She’s keeping dozens of survivors—and the few friends she has in the world—sustained and healthy and safe. And somewhere in there, plowing across the broken highways and abandoned strip malls and general wreckage of humanity, she’s found a version of herself that, for the first time in a long, long time, is someone she likes and feels confident in being.

He has his own stories. About Stamford, which had fewer characters than Scranton but was still a source of entertainment. Moving back home, where she no longer existed, and then to New York, where everything was new and strange. Jan’s manic breakdown and Dwight and Angela’s affair and Phyllis’ wedding. How being in New York meant missing whatever came after—he’d heard that Angela and Michael had both gotten engaged (though not to each other) but didn’t know any details. He’d liked city life well enough without being a city person, but had never been sure how to reconcile that with his future.

Jim barely mentions the mysterious Karen, but her name crops up enough that it’s clear he had been dating, living with, was maybe even engaged or married to her. India wonders if she was airy and pretty like Katy or more grounded like Pam herself had been. Had they pulled pranks together? Talked about kids and mortgages? He doesn’t offer, and she doesn’t ask, not yet.

He tells her about the horror of living through the Call, and the terror of not knowing what was happening or why. He lingers on his time in Amish country—though he refuses to re-create the beard—and talks at length about the others who had been with him through the simple coincidence of not answering their phones at a random roadside diner. After Butchers razed the farm where he learned to plow and whittle, three of the five of them managed to fine a new home at a settlement in Tennessee, which was in turn hit by disease. He’d escaped with just Halima in tow, only to lose her to a broadcast from more Butchers a few months later at the next settlement in Missouri.

He recalls hitting the road with nothing and no one—without even a reason beyond not wanting to wait around to die—then finding new purpose with Ashley in keeping Anders safe. (He insists their relationship was only ever platonic—“Forget not having privacy here, at least you have _doors_. We had a sedan and a five-year-old, _nothing_ was going to happen.”)

It’s peaceful, in an unfamiliar but welcome fashion. She’s almost disappointed when her internal clock hints that her shift’s up, and Romeo barges in with a quip about leaving a sock on the door next time.

The rest of the journey home to Safe Haven is like that. They keep talking, about then and now and the time in between. They cuddle and kiss when she’s not on duty, and maybe just a little bit when she is. With next to no privacy, they can’t do much more. The others adjust quickly and with good humor to Jim’s near-constant presence at her side—“Like a puppy! It’s sweet,” Kilo teases—to the point that they start telling _him_ when her shift’s about to start.

Ashley doesn’t seem to mind her monopolizing Jim, at least not after her perfunctory “if you hurt him” speech. She suspects one of the techheads has said something similar to Jim, but no one will own up to it. Her friends accept him like any other stray Actual—as the sum of an interesting set of stories, as someone to protect, and as another person to help take the edge off of the inherent loneliness of their claustrophobic life.

The drive itself is uneventful. They’re out of room to stock up much more of anything, especially with the extra people. No one gets attacked on any of their pit stops, though they avoid swimming again. But there’s enough food to go around, no one gets hurt or sick or particularly angry. Sometimes she’s tempted to drive the truck just a bit slower to make the whole thing last.

All in all, it’s one of India’s better weeks in ages—and Pam’s, too.

***

“Why are they all calling me ‘Shorty’?” Jim asks while they’re up in the crow’s nest one afternoon, standing back-to-back for better visibility. “Because nobody’s making any other tall jokes…I mean, I’m used to them, but it’s just really specific.”

There’s a muffled burst of giggles from below, and while it’s hard to actually see Kilo beneath them, they can definitely hear her.

“You realize everyone’s like a foot taller than I am, right? Height jokes aren’t that funny,” she calls up.

“So…what, is this supposed to be a comment on the size of—”

“It’s because you follow Indy around,” Kilo laughs before he can finish _that_ thought. “You know— _Meester Jones, Meester Jones_!”

India peers down. “Am I Harrison Ford in this scenario?”

“We’ll find you a hat and a whip on the next trip! Or sooner, if that’s the kind of thing Shorty—”

She’s silenced by what may be someone punching her, followed by a brief scuffle.

“So…what’s Safe Haven actually like?” Jim asks, once it’s clear Kilo’s gone. “Victor thought we’d be there today.”

India nods. “We should be, yeah. It’s…I don’t know, it’s not that different from the other settlements I’ve seen, I guess. And, I mean, it’s home. For us, anyway.”

She feels him turn and wrap his arms around her middle. “Hopefully for me, too. If you’re there…even if it’s only like a third of the time. Still. I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”

She can hear the smile in his voice and leans into him, though she’s still scanning the horizon. There’s a comfortable silence for a few moments before she spots a familiar, if defunct, cell phone tower.

Jim feels her jump and, not knowing it’s excitement, tenses. “What? What is it?”

She points to a gap in the swath of trees surrounding the road ahead of them. “That’s it! That’s Safe Haven—we’re almost there!”

India relays the information to the others via intercom and continues to keep watch while Jim climbs back down to help get the trip’s haul ready for unloading. It’s barely half an hour before they come to a stop in front of the farmhouse and the unflappable Adelle DeWitt, who lowers her shotgun as soon as she sees a familiar face.

India waves at her before joining the others in unloading. With the extra help, it doesn’t take long, and she ends up on the front porch with Ashley, sorting and inventorying whatever Victor and Adelle have decided should go to the other settlements they support. It’s a blend of dusty library books, egregiously non-perishable food like packaged beef jerky and Twinkies, and camping supplies.

“This place—it’s beautiful,” Ashley said. Anders is around back with T, who had wasted no time in making a new friend. “I hope it’s safe, like you all said. That’s another five hardcovers”

India adds a mark to the tally. “It is, I promise. Whoever’s here can show you how the tripwires and the alarms work, where the shotguns live…the only rule is no tech or weapons around T. Or Anders, now, I guess.”

The other woman sighs, mostly with relief. “Two more packs of iodine tablets. Good. And that’s what his mom would’ve wanted—no guns, just some sunshine in the mountains.”

“Well, there’s a lot of both to go around. And T is a great kid—he’ll be glad to have a friend. And everyone who’s here kind of pitches in, so it won’t just be you, or you and Jim, taking care of him.”

“Thank God. I was never cut out to be a parent, but after Gitte died, I just…had him.”

India nods, and Jim pokes his head out the door. “Ash, they have _spices_ here. We get to eat like human beings again!”

***

By the time everything is sorted and put away, it’s nearly dusk. Dinner is a quick affair—without electricity, candles aren’t burned lightly. Conversation mostly consists of introductions and trip recaps. Jim charms everyone, his natural affability already peeking out around the tight-wound terror that grips almost every Actual. Ashley cracks a smile, Priya and Victor manage to be civil, and Adelle seems to be in an Earth Mother sort of mood, instead of her British-hard-ass mode (as far as India can tell, she mostly just has these two settings).

“Who’s staying here this time?” Priya asks. She doesn’t really like any of the techheads on principle—India had lost the fight to stay friends with her fellow wannabe artist upon becoming India—but she rubs the whole situation in Priya’s face far less than Romeo and Kilo tend to. Yankee’s okay, but he’s so laconic that it’s hard for anyone to be offended by him.

“India,” Victor says around a mouthful of carrots. She trades surprised looks with the others—it’s definitely not her turn—but no one protests. Kilo and Romeo are just as happy not to stay behind, and for her, it means an extra couple of weeks with Jim, which is probably what Victor was thinking. She grins.

“You guys aren’t gonna know what hit you when she teaches you how to punch,” Kilo adds for Jim and Ashley’s benefit. “I mean, literally. Girl’s a hands-on teacher. And learner. Man, when we were training her…I think I _still_ have some of those bruises.”

India blushes and deflects. Her hard-won confidence doesn’t mean she likes being the center of attention any better than she used to. “Any word from Echo and Paul?”

Adelle nods. “Mr. Ballard said they may need one of you lot soon—they’ve had some luck skulking around Neuropolis pretending to be Dumbshows, but there are limits to how they can help as such.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Victor says, not promising anything. He turns to Jim and Ashley. “Last time we went in there, one of ours—X-Ray—he got killed, and the rest of us barely made it out. I don’t know how Echo and Ballard have gotten in and out of there so many times.”

“You know it’s Echo,” Romeo points out, and everyone falls silent. Even now, most of them still don’t quite know what to do with their not-quite-savior. India wonders what Jim will think of her—and Alpha, for that matter.

Everyone disperses once the food is gone. June pulls Ashley in to help with dishes. Victor and Adelle are muttering about the unusually menacing behavior of the Butchers that had nearly gotten Anders. Priya tries to coax both little boys towards bed, and Kilo goes to take the first night watch shift. Romeo and Jed leave to reset the tripwires. The exodus happens so quickly that India doesn’t even realize they’re alone until Jim comes up and hugs her. And then she remembers that they’re in a house, with beds and doors and at least the illusion of real privacy. She draws back, grinning, and grabs Jim’s hand to pull him up the stairs.

They fall into the bedroom she usually uses, kissing furiously like they’re in the second act of a romantic movie with a pop song playing over their hurried fumbling with each other’s clothes. He kicks the door shut, hands at the hem of her jacket, and then on her neck, and then back to the hem, and it’s another few rounds of that before she realizes that he’s trying to take the thing off and can’t find the zipper. India bursts out laughing.

“Fine, then, you do it, Beesley. Some of us had the decency to wear, you know, sweaters.” As if to prove his point, he yanks off his sweater and undershirt in one swift motion. It occurs to her she’s never seen him shirtless before, and the sight of him—lean and pale, just as she imagined, with a hint of muscle—gives her pause. Of course, then she sees his smug grin, and the twinkle in his eyes, and she deftly unzips her jacket (the zipper is hidden under a length of tire rubber) and slings it to the side.  

Jim’s face lights up, and they get back to kissing.


	4. To lift off ground like an airplane

India wakes with the sunrise, like she usually does at Safe Haven. It takes her an extra-half second to remember why she’s naked and hearing the soft sound of someone else’s breath behind her. When the previous night—and the days leading up to it—come back to her, she smiles and, for once, doesn’t leap immediately to action.

But it’s not long before she hears the familiar clatter of things being loaded last-minute into the soon-to-depart truck. Jim wakes with a start—most people are light sleepers nowadays—but relaxes when he hears familiar voices shouting about how many bullets and which coffee grounds. He nuzzles her bare shoulder, and it takes someone shouting, “Where the _fuck_ is Indy?” to remind her there’s still a job to be done.

She’s dressed and out front in less than two minutes. Jim’s still upstairs and clearly lacks the fluid motions that she’s spent years pounding into muscle memory. The truck appears to be mostly loaded up, though. Yankee shakes his head ruefully; Romeo waggles his eyebrows and grins; Kilo elbows her and ribs, “Looks like Shorty wore you out.”

Victor looks peeved, for all of his encouragement the night before. “Just because you’re staying doesn’t mean you get a day off. You know there’s shit to do.” He carries a box of bullets on board and she stares after him, a little shocked.

She turns to Kilo, who shrugs and says, “He’s just jealous. House doesn’t exactly have soundproof walls and…well, he’s not the one who got laid last night, am I right?”

India considers the times that he _had_ been the one—almost always followed by a loud fight (and, once, a pregnancy). It had been more than two years since Victor had stayed long enough to have a real conversation with Priya, but even that hadn’t stopped their occasional interludes. Kilo was right about the walls, anyway. Though privately, India had always taken their grunts and moans as a reminder of their continuing humanity: they were alive and themselves.

She tells Kilo, “Well, it’s not like it’s personal. He’s the one who said I was staying behind.”

“Atta girl,” Kilo grins. “Next time we pick up strays, though, let’s try to find me a nice young lady, ‘kay? There aren’t _nearly_ enough lesbians in this post-apocalyptic wasteland.”

***

It’s almost three weeks before the others come back, and she’s never felt so calm anticipating their return. That’s not to say she isn’t restless, and the time itself is spent mostly like every other shore leave, but the added presence of one Jim Halpert makes a world of difference.

It’s not just that Safe Haven’s half-dozen other residents are good about giving them space, or what happens in the bare little bedroom upstairs when there aren’t chores to do. It’s that he’s simply and firmly back in her life, as present to her as breathing and appreciated just as much. It’s the reminder of why she had rarely minded working a dead-end job with a crazy boss for so long, and why she’d been so distraught without him. In the time since, she’s more than learned to live without him. Now, it’s that she absolutely doesn’t want to.

The feeling doesn’t totally assuage her desire for the open road, for doing something more than farming and checking trip wires and alarms every day. She’s tasted adventure and action and her own agency too often to give them up, but having him back in her life is an adventure of its own.

In the meantime, he, Ashley, and Anders slide into life at Safe Haven without fanfare. T and Anders are fast friends in the way that only two five-year-olds can be. Adelle, Priya, June, and Jed are grateful for new faces, if slow to trust or rely on them. Jim and Ashley are mostly relieved to be stationary and safe for once.

What they don’t know can be taught easily enough, and India makes sure they can both throw a punch and shoot a gun to her satisfaction. Adelle and the other ex-Actives can handle themselves by now, but she’d rather not lose Jim a second time because he forgot about the shotgun’s kickback. They fill the daylight hours with household chores and spring planting. The trip wires, alarm system, and deflector shields are all quite operational (using the _Topher_ print always seems to mean _Star Wars_ humor) and don’t go off once outside of her daily checks.

After their first week, Jim finds a downed tree and sets about turning its trunk into extra seats for the table. She teases him for his Dwight-like behavior and doesn’t relent until he produces a small pendant for her, whittled from scraps. It’s nothing fancy, just a smooth rounded heart, but she slips it on one of the strings with her print drives and feels warmed every time her hand brushes it.

It’s the most home she’s felt at Safe Haven since Abby’s death years before.

***

The truck does return, of course, and she’s excited in spite of herself to board it. Fortunately, they arrive just after sunset—the alarm bells at that hour give everyone a few minutes of fright—which means they won’t leave again until first light in the morning, rather than with a couple of hours.

“You sure you have to go?” Jim whispers in bed later. They’re lying face-to-face, and his back is to the window, so she can’t quite see his expression. “We can come up with all kinds of crazy excitement here to keep you…excited.”

His tone is understanding enough that she smiles. “It’s not that. It’s just—there’s so much out there. So many people we can help, so many places we can go to do it…this is just something I have to do, you know?”

“Yeah.” His arm snakes around her hip and pulls her closer. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t trying to make everything better for everybody.”

“Hey,” she says, thinking of something. She unfastens one of the drives around her neck—even naked, they never come off—and presses it into his hand.

“Pam, what—”

“It’s me,” she explains. “The original me. What I had Vic take out so I could be…me now.  All the—the stupid stuff about Dunder-Mifflin HR, and being able to draw, Spider Solitaire, I don’t know, whatever else—it’s all on here. I want you to have it—hold onto it for me.”

“Thank you,” he whispers reverently, holding up the drive to examine in the moonlight. “I didn’t know you even would’ve saved this. Do you—use it, ever?”

India shakes her head. “You should know by now—if I’m not doing anything else, it’s _Weapons Expert_ or _Martial Arts_ by default. But I like to think I’ll need it again someday.”

“Like—when?”

“Like when the world doesn’t need us anymore —doesn’t need techheads, I mean. There has to be some point when there just won’t be anything left to be scared of, right?  Like, we’ll get enough people vaccinated, and armed, and protected, that Rossum just won’t have any more Actuals to wipe. And then there won’t be any new Butchers, and the old ones will die out, and if Echo and Paul can just get Topher back, there won’t be a way for their tech to beat our tech, and then we can all just…be. And work on rebuilding, and, and living instead of just…surviving.”

“That sounds like an awful nice future, Beesley. Think it’ll actually happen?”

She resists the urge to grab _Topher_ and tell him the odds. Instead, she just replies, “I have to. Otherwise—what’s the point of anything?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I gotta tell you,” he says finally, “Until maybe a month ago, I’d been wondering that more and more. Not even fighting, just trying to survive to the next week, you know? I mean, I never got as desperate as some people, but after we left Lancaster, it was just hard to know, like, why it was worth hanging on, if every day was just going to be as bad as the one before it. But with you, it…it just makes sense again, you know? That’s enough for me, most days.”

She seeks out, and finds, his eyes in the dim light. “I love you, Jim.”

They don’t talk for a while after that.

***

She wakes up with the sun and, despite her best attempt to slip out quietly, so does Jim. They dress in silence, and, yawning, he follows her downstairs to help out. India throws Victor her best passive-aggressive look and carries their beat-up cooler of fresh produce to Yankee, who’s already loading the truck.

“Still nothing from Echo?” he asks.

“Not a word. It’s been dead here since you guys pulled out, like I said last night.”

“Maybe your friend’s good luck.”

“Maybe they can just handle things on their own. Fifty people in two bodies have to be pretty effective, right?”

Yankee snorts and runs a tanned hand through his already sweat-soaked hair. “Something like that. She just sounded pretty serious about maybe needing us down there when she was here before—and it’s not like Ballard’s ever going to run up against her…”

“That’s what she said!”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “If Vic and Adelle are done, we’re probably good to go. I’m going to say goodbye, and then we can get things organized in there once we’re moving, okay?”

“Shiny. Good to have you back, Indy.”

Jim hugs her forcefully, and says in her ear, “Just come back to me, okay?”

“Always. Or, always as long as you stay safe here for me to come back to.”

“It’s a deal.”

A quick kiss later, and Yankee is pulling the truck away from Safe Haven. The gathering surge of adrenaline dulls the sharp pang of leaving him, and India is ready to do what she was meant—and made—to do.

***

“I didn’t meant to be a dick when we left last time,” Victor says a few hours later. “But I gotta know if I’m losing a team member.”

“You’re not.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. You sure you’re not…well, a little jealous?”

His usually steady eyes flick back to the coffee mug in his hand. “Not sure at all. But I don’t let her keep me from my job. Just…be aware, okay? We need you _on_ , here or there.”

She nods, feeling a little smaller in spite of herself.

“I’m glad you guys worked it out, though—nice to see you so happy. Even if you’re slacking.” Victor grins, and she elbows him, and things wobble back to normal.

***

It’s another uneventful trip—no strays, hardly any Butchers, and the only other people they really see are the sentries and leaders at the two settlements they visit to stock up. The second one offers an unasked-for goat in return for tarps and water filters, which makes the return trip a little strange but not as wacky as India and Kilo are secretly rooting for.

They’re back at Safe Haven just after dawn exactly two weeks and five days later, and the first thing she sees when she gets out of the truck is Jim, who literally if unwisely chucks his shotgun aside to run up and kiss her soundly.

“Kept up my end of the deal,” she whispers. “How about you?”

“Boring as hell here,” he replies, stepping back and following her to help unload. “I’m starting to think this Echo chick might just exist in your collectively tweaked memories.”

“Oh, she’s very real,” Victor jumps in. “Kinda terrifying, on a good day. But what’s left of humanity couldn’t ask for a better champion.”

“What, we’re not counting Alpha?” Yankee asks. “I thought he was a good guy now. He did figure out the tech—”

“He’s still nuts,” Victor says flatly. “I don’t know how somebody can live with being so many somebodies, and not go crazy, and that’s what he did. He may be on our side, but I don’t even know that he’s really human. Echo’s most of the reason any of us are alive and kicking, not to mention the only reason we’re immune to wireless. And _she’s_ not crazy—some days I think she might be more human than any of us.”

“Well, she’s definitely more _humans_ than any of us,” Kilo says.

They’re interrupted by a delighted squeal from Anders, who seems to have shed most of his terror in the intervening weeks. Victor kneels down and solemnly presents him with the goat’s tether, and the little boy very carefully leads the bewildered animal away.

“Priya’s going to kill you, you know,” Romeo pipes up. “Because that kid and T are officially attached at the hip now, and two five-year-olds can’t really take care of a friggin’ _goat_. By the way, since when do we have a goat?”

“Thank you gift. And Priya’s pissy already,” Victor grumbles.

India exchanges a glance with Jim, who shrugs, which leaves her wondering what Priya’s said to him. They all go back to work.

***

The first thing he says when they get another moment alone together is “Ow!”

India jumps to attention, in spite of being mostly undressed and having been feeling more warm and fuzzy than adrenaline-fueled half a second before. “What? What—are you okay? Did—”

Unbelievably, he starts laughing. “Sorry, I just—it’s just that I think I caught my finger on your…face. I’m okay. Let’s go back to the kissing.”

She grabs his hand, which has no sign of blood or even broken skin.

“Really, Pam, I’m fine! Just didn’t expect your cheek to fight back.”

“How did you even—”

“Hey.” He takes half a step back and places his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down. I’m fine. I promise. Not everything heralds the end of the world.”

She blows a raspberry. “Well, now I just feel silly.”

“I did appreciate your concern.”

“It was my face. Or things attached to my face.”

“It’s a very nice face, even with the sharp corners.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the really, really amazing ones.”

***

And that’s their relationship. She comes and goes, feels a little lonelier but far more purposeful without him, and in a magic little universe when they’re together again. He knows better than to ask her to stay, and she can never quite resolve how happy she is to leave him. But they have both waited for one another for so long that having this much is plenty worth it.

It probably helps that many of the relationship stressors she remembers from Before simply aren’t factors in this world. There’s no mortgage to pay, no dead-end job, no dubious input on anything from one Michael G. Scott.

There’s also no prospect, or even discussion of marriage or kids. People everywhere still pair off with varying levels of commitment, but anything resembling organized religion has mostly fizzled out alongside the rule of law. Kids are a more complicated subject, and neither of them breaches it. With Roy and even before him, India had always wanted kids. Now, though, all she can see is a pregnant belly getting in the way of her rifle, or being taken as an extra-tempting target for a Butcher’s evolving cruelty.

India also can’t imagine having a kid only to leave it behind constantly, but neither can she picture giving up the leaving. It’s a hard enough balance with Jim, and at least seems to understand.

If she did find herself knocked up, there would be options. She doesn’t want to think of that conversation with Jim, though, so she puts it out of mind and stocks up on possibly expired and pre-Industrial prophylactics like everyone else. Their birth control options are limited and primitive at best, but she’s creeping up on forty and not exactly fertile anyway.

Having Jim waiting at Safe Haven certainly takes most of the boredom out of shore leave. It’s a better place to stay with him around, too—a few more people means Safe Haven’s residents are a little less stuck with each other, which lets everyone relax a bit.  Priya’s unbendable as ever, but she stops short of trying to persuade Jim away from India. She’s never been cruel, India supposes, but there’s little room or regard for subtlety nowadays, so restraint is appreciated.

India makes a point of being at her best, so the others have no cause for complaint, or even friendly ribbing. She doesn’t like being made fun of, and she doesn’t like feeling mediocre, either. Her tripwires are flawless, her repairs are perfect, and her ministrations when the goat kicks Jed in the shin are textbook. She’s out of bed at dawn, even when the truck is far away, though she can be persuaded to get back in it if there’s nothing pressing. She teaches the boys to find edible plants and shows Ashley how to hunt small game within their perimeter.

She keeps an eye out for Echo and Paul, who still don’t appear. Alpha nearly gives them all a heart attack once when he appears to deliver a message from the other two, who are deep undercover in Neuropolis somewhere. How Rossum hasn’t yet caught them isn’t clear, but anyway, they’re not dead or wiped. Alpha says, “No one survives like that Caroline Farrell.” India hopes there’s still a future for them without Echo, but it’s hard not to have faith in the still-active Active.

Above all, she makes Jim practice everything she knows how to teach him—shooting, fighting, surviving. If someone’s going to break their deal, it won’t be him. Even if he managed for years without her, she can’t shake the fear of losing him again.

Beyond that, there’s nothing for them, really, but to be together. And they are, unquestionably.

***

“I started dreaming again, did you know that?” India asks.

She and Kilo are lying on the roof of the truck in a rare moment of repose. It’s probably September or thereabouts, but the trailer is packed full of winter clothes for just about every surviving Actual they know about. Victor had decreed a short stop to shake cabin fever for the few days it’ll take to return to Safe Haven. They’re in the middle of Oklahoma somewhere—the highway signage isn’t in much better condition than then highways themselves anymore—so a pool or even grass seems to be out of the question. It’s not quite too hot to move, but it’s close. The boys are lazily kicking around a makeshift ball (actually ski jackets tangled together), and they’re tanning.

“What, like you’ve got the white picket fence picked out, and as soon as Shorty gets that Christmas bonus—”

India halfheartedly whacks her friend on the shoulder. “No, I mean literally. I can’t remember having dreams since I woke up back in the Dollhouse…and then I’ve had a couple in the last few months.”

Kilo is silent for a while. “About what? Jim?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes we’re, like, back in Scranton, but happy, like we maybe would have been…other times it’s just, you know, weird dream stuff. I guess he’s in a lot of them, but that’s not that weird, right? It’s just—it’s like my subconscious didn’t really have anything to say until he came back into my life.”

“Indy. Our heads are insanely, meticulously, _architecturally_ structured. Your boy’s great and all, but your _Topher_ print knows as well as mine that there mere fact of his existence isn’t going to change all that engineering.”

“But Priya and, well, I guess he was Tony then…they had something even when they were just wiped Dolls. Right?”

“Yeah, and you already had a thing for him before he showed up, yeah? That’s not new. Maybe you’re just finally having dreams worth remembering.”

***

In early 2020, they get back in the middle of the night, disabling the tripwires so they don’t disturb anyone. India surprises Jim by waking up next to him, and, once the truck is gone, they have hours to themselves. It’s the dead of winter, so there’s not much to do outside, and Safe Haven’s other residents know better than to interrupt them, especially on her first day back.

She collapses next to him, sweaty and satisfied, and remembers something. “Oh! I brought you a present!”

He looks gleeful as she rolls over and pulls out a burlap-wrapped bundle from under the bed where she’d stowed it hours earlier.

“You got me…reams of paper?” He hefts one of the packs expertly, confused. “Laser-printer quality reams of paper?”

“Look closer, idiot.”

The glee returns. “Where the _hell_ did you find Dunder-Mifflin paper in a freaking apocalypse?”

She beams. “We made it all the way past Altoona the week before last—the closer places we marked for stopping were either picked over, or we got snowed out of them. And no one really thinks to raid, like, an Office Max. Yankee thought a couple reams would be good for the kids to doodle on and stuff, and then Romeo found pens and things…”

“…and Victor thought Priya would be happy, and then you saw the label.”

“Pretty much.”

“Why four? Or are these all to share with everybody downstairs?”

“For Flonkerton!” India’s bursting with excitement. “I figured we can race, and then maybe get T and Anders to do it, and we can take bets on which almost-six-year-old wins.”

“Flonkerton?” He looks at her blankly.

“The fake national sport of Iceland? From that time we did the Olympics at work, with—”

“You remember that?”

“It was a pretty memorable afternoon…”

“But—” he fingers the drive labeled _Pam_ around his neck. “I thought all the stupid work stuff was on this thing. And that was forever ago!”

She nuzzles his shoulder. “I told you, I kept the things that matter. Mostly the ones with you. And sure, it was, like, 2005, but there are a bunch of years in the middle where I just don’t have any memories at all. So, I guess I just have more space.”

“How can you be so…blasé about that? Pam, they just—they took that from you. How can you joke about missing half a dozen years of your life? And with what’s in your folder—”

It’s an internal battle she’s waged since she woke up to the end of the world, one that’s mostly under control but tends to resurge if she thinks about it too much.

“Because if I can’t joke about it—if I have to think about it seriously—that’s when all this,” she taps her head, “starts to fall apart. That’s the only way I know how to deal with it. Otherwise, I’m just this…this broken Doll who’s still using their tech while they’re burning the world to the ground, and they win no matter what. And that—that’s more than I will ever be able to deal with.”

Jim drops the ream and wraps his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—I just can’t even imagine. Most of the time you’re just…you, and then there are these moments when you start to be somebody—India?—and I just, I didn’t realize that’s, like, your way to cope.”

She wrinkles her nose to try to stave off the feeling of being about to cry. “Yeah, well…did you say you looked at my folder?”

“You said I could, you just didn’t want to be here when—”

“Yeah, I know, I just didn’t know you did.” The fact that he’s still here with her means the details of her years in the Dollhouse hadn’t freaked him out as much as they could have. Still, the thought of him knowing about the sex, the murders, and the other ways her body had been used for years without her consent is unsettling. “So…what did you…”

“I mean, I _really_ didn’t get how you could joke about it, I guess. And—well, it cleared up how you’d ended up in California for the end of the world.”

India looks at him questioningly. “I told you a while ago, there was some engagement where they thought someone recognized me, so they had me transferred to Adelle’s House in L.A. just in case. It’s all there. Adelle confirmed it; that wasn’t, like, a whole corporate cover-up.”

“Oh, I know. Just—I think that was me.” He grins at her shock. “Yeah, it was like 2009 or ‘10, and I was living in the city with Karen, and we went down to the farmers’ market in Union Square, and I could have _sworn_ I saw you there. I mean, it was like seeing a ghost. I guess it was you—or your body, at least—but you had, like, this really thick Southern accent and said I must’ve had you confused with someone else, because you were there with your ‘betrothed’ and it was your first time in the, uh ‘ _nawth_.’ Although, I guess I should be flattered that you didn’t seem too creeped out by me. And that Rossum didn’t, like, gun me down or have you tell me off again…”

“Okay, now who has a freaky memory for things that happened forever ago?”

“Well, I’d basically forgotten about it until I saw that page in your file.”

“That’s so funny—I remember the file entry, I just always figured it was a mistake, and Echo was making life interesting enough for Rossum already that they didn’t want to take chances...”

“Small world.” He lifts the paper reams onto the nightstand—another product of his furniture-making—and makes room for her to cuddle back onto his chest. There’s a cozy few minutes of silence that put her back at peace.

“Hey, Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you tell me about Karen?”

“Why would—what do you want to know?” He sounds surprised, though it occurs to her he should be more surprised that she’s taken this long to ask. It’s impressive how long he’s gone without actually telling her anything about this woman, besides that she’d existed and died.

“You always kind of mention her without saying anything. I just know that you were together all that time. And obviously you loved her.”

“She wasn’t you, though. That was really her biggest fault. Which was pretty unfair, but I think that’s why I never…you know, moved forward. Got married or whatever. I knew she wanted to, and we talked about it a little, but you—”

“Jim, I’m not jealous or anything. I know what happened, with us. And then I didn’t _exist_ ; it’s not like you owed me anything at that point.”

“Yeah, but I guess I was still waiting anyway, you know?”

She’s touched, but he still hasn’t actually told her anything. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Okay, well. Um. She was…great, actually. Really smart, driven. Funny—like, dry and sarcastic, she never really got into my pranks—but she made me laugh, which…well, after I left and you disappeared I sort of didn’t think I’d be able to do again for a while. And really—well, she was just really hot. Looked nothing like you, I guess, which was good.”

“Hey!”

“I mean, she was half-Italian, half-black. And I met her at a point where I couldn’t even watch, like, _I Love Lucy_ without getting worked up about the red hair.”

“Aw, sweetie.”

“I don’t know what else you’d want to know. I think you guys would have been friends, actually. Maybe.”

“Did you ever tell her about me?”

“Yeah…not in that great detail, because you were gone, so it was all kind of moot. But Dwight kept gloating because I’d lost my partner in crime when I came back, and Phyllis said something, and Michael…and, well, it was just _really_ obvious that you were gone, especially early on. So she asked, and I told her. And then the thing in the market. But you were never there, and she kept saying she wasn’t going to get all worked up and jealous about a ghost. And eventually, I just got used to the feeling.”

“Do you think she’d be happy for you now? That you’re, I don’t know, alive and I hope kinda happy?”

“More than kinda. And yeah, I think so. She was one of the good ones.”

“Then I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet her.”


	5. Love ties you down to the pain

As winter melts into spring, their trips get longer and longer-ranging again. American consumerism in the early 21st century had been impressive, but they and other survivors have picked more and more places clean in the years since production ceased. They’re also making up for the limits of winter with more trips in and out of the settlements they run supplies to, which means they need India and her niceness pretty frequently.

Echo and Paul return still haven’t reappeared. India, who has always been intimidated by the other woman and her dozens of minds, doesn’t especially miss her, but they still encounter so many Butchers on the road that it’s unclear what Echo’s accomplishing.

Two different Dumbshows have appeared, though, each with just enough programming to update Adelle, who apparently had arranged a verbal trigger code with Echo. Alpha arrives again in mid-spring with a direct update: Echo and Paul are alive and getting closer to the heart of Neuropolis, in hopes of being able to dismantle it. They’ll send further word if they needed reinforcements.

It’s early spring before she’s back to stay again, and most of the lengthening days go towards planting. She’s delighted by Jim’s surprisingly thorough understanding of agriculture and gets to celebrate the boys’ sixth birthdays, which are both sometime around late March, so they may as well have one big party for both.

Jim whittles them each a little jointed action figure, and India uses her _Medical_ print to suture fabric scraps into crude but serviceable teddy bears. No print comes with true creativity, and skill alone can’t replace it, but Jim assures her that the toys look sufficiently bear-like. Either way, T and Anders are excited by them.

And, as they’re not tech or weapons, Priya breaks into a smile and thanks India. She doesn’t know what to make of her steely, onetime friend these days. Priya seems to get along famously with Jim, in spite of their diverging views on the techheads, and she’s softened a little with the warmer weather. India had wondered if Priya suspected she and Victor were having some kind of relationship—which, if she had, just showed she didn’t really know either of them. She’s been at best marginally nicer to India since Jim arrived, possibly confirming that theory, but India isn’t sure it’s really enough change to count.

In any case, it’s a particularly nice stay until the end of April.

***

One perfectly boring afternoon, Jim is fixing lunch while Adelle’s in the vegetable garden, June’s with the boys, Jed and Ashley are tending to the animals, and Priya tries to nap off a lingering head cold. India relaxes on the front porch, nominally keeping watch and mostly enjoying the perfect spring weather. But she snaps to attention when bushes just beyond Safe Haven’s clearing rustle. Nothing and no one emerges, but one of the alarm bells tinkles briefly from inside the house, which means a tripwire was crossed.

“On it,” she calls to whoever’s listening and sprints towards the offending bushes, rifle in hand and at ready.

Sure enough, a ragged man—at least a decade older than Adelle, though not yet past middle age—materialized a few layers of flora in. He has the dirty, grizzled appearance of too many elements and not enough hygiene that most strays do, and he’s augmented the look with a weathered backpack laden with camping cookware. As soon as he sees her, his hands go up in apparent surrender. She notes the bulge of a handgun in the waistband of his camouflage pants.

The man stares at India intently for several seconds, meeting her eyes instead of focusing on her weapon the way most people do. She’s not sure whether to be suspicious of his apparent confidence or relieved by it, but either way, it’s unusual.

“All right there, ma’am? I’m just passing through, saw that house…”

“That’s home—Safe Haven. We’ve got food and beds if you’re looking.” She jerks her head in the house’s direction, and he edges out to the clearing, not taking his eyes off of her. India lets her gun hang down around her torso, and the stranger drops his arms.

“I just need to ask you a few questions and check you for weapons. We’ve had some trouble with visitors in the past—you know. It’s like every settlement, these days. Can I see your birthmark?”

They had been much more welcoming until a year or so ago, when a pair of newcomers disappeared on their second night with Topher in tow. It’s shocking how many freshly printed people can’t figure out whose name is carved into their shoulders.

The man slings his pack to the ground just behind him and reaches for his collar with his left hand. The right one dangles at his side, and she notices that it’s moving slowly toward the handgun’s bulge just as she hears a voice.

“Hey! Priya’s making chili, and it’s going to get cold if you—”

The next seconds happen almost in slow motion. The stranger catches Jim in a headlock with his left arm and points a gun to his temple with his other hand. India aims her own firearm at his head nearly as fast, and he clicks his handgun’s safety off. They stand there deadlocked for several seconds. Jim’s eyes are wild with fear and he doesn’t struggle for more than a second—his captor’s hold is too strong, and the man’s finger is on the trigger. India holds steady, though with her _Weapons Expert_ print in, it’s a struggle not to do anything.

“So,” the man says. “I think you should be bringing me a few things from that house of yours. Jerky would be good. Fresh vegetables—I know I saw a garden. Water filters or iodine or whatever you got. Wouldn’t mind a new pack, but I’m not picky. Though I will be taking that rifle of yours. Or…well, I imagine a smart little girl like you knows what happens next.”

He smiles self-assuredly and not without malice. India realizes she must look almost as panicked as Jim does. But unless this guy is Rossum-issued—still not likely, all things considered, as he’s alone and not interested in any of their people—he has no idea what the metal on her face means.

She fires.

The stranger collapses face-down on the ground, bleeding from the neck. Jim stumbles forward, landing on his hands and knees, his face a mask of pure shock. The handgun clatters to the ground, and India dives for it before it can go off. It doesn’t, luckily, and as soon as the safety’s back on, she whirls around to Jim.

“Are you okay?” she screams.

“I’m fine, I—I think he’s dead.” Jim crawls over and presses two fingers to the man’s wrist. “Oh my God. You—you—he—”

India checks the dead man’s neck. There’s no pulse. She falls back onto her heels, breathing deeply. It’s over. Threat neutralized. Jim’s safe. When her heart stops pounding, she pulls the backpack off its owner and starts untying the top. No use in wasting supplies.

It’s nearly half a minute before she realizes that Jim hasn’t said anything, or even moved. When she looks up at him, he’s just staring at her with the kind of horror that should be reserved for the person who’d aimed a gun at him, not the one who did the saving.

She drops the backpack and moves toward him. “Are you—are you okay? I know it can be kind of terrifying when someone puts a pistol to your head…”

“Pam, you—you killed him! You just—one second he was standing there and now he’s—oh my God. Why—he didn’t—”

Jim recoils as she nears, which freezes India in her tracks. “Jim, he—he was going to kill you.”

“But he didn’t—you shot _him_.”

“He had a gun to your head!”

“That doesn’t mean he was going to use it!”

Neither of them has ever been the angry—or remotely confrontational—type, but their voices start to rise and overlap in the heat of the moment.

“He threatened you—for stuff we would’ve _given_ him! Of course he would’ve shot—how could you think—”

“But you _killed_ him! You could’ve, I don’t know, shot him in, like, the leg, or just hit him, you didn’t have to—”

“I _did_ have to, if I hit him anywhere else his finger could’ve slipped, or he could’ve pulled the trigger anyway! You’ve seen me end threats before—”

“Butchers! Animals! Not actual—Actuals!”

“He was just as much of a threat—”

“Pam, you just killed a man! And now you’re going through his stuff like it’s just another one of your salvage trips. That’s not—this isn’t you, this is—the girl I knew wouldn’t do this. This is India talking.”

That stops her cold. “Don’t you _dare_. I do what I have to do to keep the people I care about safe—and if you don’t want to be at the top of that list, fine, but don’t tell me what I’m supposed to be doing or who I’m supposed to be. Don’t ever. _That guy_ _would have killed you_. If I’d given him what he wanted, he could have just walked off and hurt people at the next settlement. And their guards can’t do what I can. So don’t you _dare_ say that.”

India rises, shoulders the open pack, and turns to walk back to the house.

“Where are you going?” he asks. His tone is an unreadable mess of emotion.

“To get a shovel. And someone needs to reset the tripwire. I can do it when I get back, if you don’t remember how.”

“A shovel?”

“Have to do _something_ with the body.” It comes out harsher than she intends, but he doesn’t get to call her names, even ones she’s chosen.

***

India takes the graveyard watch shift after there’s no sign of Jim at dinner and the door to their shared room was shut. She had told Adelle, who had noticed her returning with the shovel and who had the discretion not to tell the others. Living in such close quarters puts a premium on privacy, so while everyone clearly noticed something was wrong, dinner had simply been a short and near-silent affair. No one asks about the gunshot noise.

Adelle follows her out onto the porch with tea, and they sit while the sunset fades. It’s several minutes before she speaks.

“India. About earlier.”

“I’m not apologizing. He was going to hurt Jim, and who knows how many others?”

“I know. You aren’t a reckless woman, and the intruder presented a clear threat to this house. You have a power that you don’t use lightly. I think you were right to use it today. And, the lengths you would go to in order to keep Mr. Halpert safe were readily apparent long before this afternoon.

“But the woman I met in Los Angeles, who woke up from the Dollhouse—she wouldn’t have taken those actions. And that is, I think, where Mr. Halpert is correct. You’re no longer Pamela Beesley circa 2006, one and two-thirds meters tall, 126 pounds, longtime receptionist, and so on. Call yourself what you like, but this is another life you have now.” She pauses for several seconds to sip her tea. “Of course, I’m hardly the same Adelle DeWitt who oversaw most of your Active career. And I suspect he isn’t quite the person you worked with in Pennsylvania, either.”

“But I’m the one with studs on my face and a gun in my hands, that’s what you’re saying.”

“And a dead body at your feet, yes.”

India stares at her, wide-eyed. “Why would you say it like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Adelle shrugs and takes another sip of her tea. “You can debate from now until Kingdom Come whether your younger self could or would say the same. But Pamela Beesley, circa 2020, better known as ‘India’? This is evidently who she is. You’ve said so many times that you wanted to be stronger and unafraid. That’s what you’ve become. You’ve saved countless people. But there are always compromises. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“That’s _Spider-Man_.”

“You underestimate my time spent with Topher Brink over the years.”

She has to chuckle at that, and Adelle cracks a small smile, despite the pain that speaking of Topher causes her. They sit with their tea, swapping improbably geeky anecdotes, until Adelle’s yawns turn into very undignified snores a few hours later. There’s a creak of a floorboard upstairs, and India thinks she still doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to him, not yet.

It’s an undisguised blessing when the truck shows up in the middle of the night. India switches with Kilo, and they roll out again before dawn. It may be petty, but she isn’t overly eager to say goodbye if he’s going to look at her like she’s a killer.

***

The guys on the truck are like what she imagines big brothers would be like, had Helene Beesley been the type to raise technophile mercenaries.

Yankee doesn’t actually ask any questions; he just materializes behind her one afternoon when they’re both off duty and says, “Whatever happened, just talk it out. It’s not worth being together if you can’t talk, and if you don’t, everything just…festers. Trust me.”

It’s painfully clear he’s thinking of his onetime fiancée—who had killed herself and sent him onto Rossum’s radar, according to Yankee back when he was just Matt. He adds, “Ayelet, she—she was different for a while before she died. I don’t know if it was depression, or just, like, stuff at work, or what, or if that had anything to do with what happened. And she always said she was fine, so I never asked.”

Apparently he hadn’t yanked all of those memories out, though being haunted by her ghost is standard Yankee either way. It’s a level of detail she’s pretty sure he hasn’t shared with anyone, and that catches her.

“I mean, it’s probably a whole different situation—Jim’s not really like her or anything—but…it’s worth it to ask. And not to just always wonder if you could’ve made things work out different.”

Romeo, who makes up for what he lacks in sentimentality with an unparalleled ability to cut through bullshit, simply says, “If he’s pissed, he’s missing the whole point of the world we live in. And that’s his problem. Miracle he survived as long as he did before we came along. You did right, Indy.”

She tells Victor the whole story—the sneak approach and casual threat of violence, her fear of Jim’s death, and the look in his eyes, Adelle’s take— during another late-night driving shift. “What do I do now?”

Her friend’s eyes are dark, and maybe a little wet. “Well, say goodbye next time at the very least.”

“That’s not what—”

“That’s exactly what. You’re not cruel, Indy, and you guys were over the moon for each other long before Rossum got you. But don’t think you’ve evolved right back into the same person you used to be. And don’t think killing a man—even one who deserved it—doesn’t mean anything. Own your actions, own yourself, and if he doesn’t like what he sees, then he came looking for someone that Rossum destroyed years ago. Don’t apologize if you’re not sorry. But don’t let him—or anyone else—override your choices. _That’s_ what we have left. And if you’re choosing to be with him, or to try, at least say goodbye. The mission can wait a sec if it has to.”

***

India spends a week and a half distracting herself with extra shifts and by organizing and reorganizing their latest takes. They get lucky in their raiding along what had been the Mexican border to the point that they turn back well before India works out an answer. The truck is stocked with enough clothes, sewing supplies, and bullets to fill their storage space and to ensure that no one they supply will go naked or unarmed anytime soon.

Everyone’s advice knocks around her head, though, and despite her best efforts, she keeps seeing Jim’s eyes in her dreams. She still doesn’t know what to say to him, but at the rate they’re going, she’ll see him in a few days either way.

The lull of an uneventful road trip combined with too much time spent in her own head is slightly maddening, so when they encounter a swarm of Butchers—the rabid, mindless, bloodthirsty breed—India’s the first one firing. From the crow’s nest, she puts down three of them in quick succession. As soon as the truck rolls to a stop, there’s a spray of bullets as the guys start shooting, too.

Yankee’s voice crackles over the intercom. “We’re losing one, male, running around to the port side away from the cab. Indy—?”

“Got him,” India says, voice low and a little dangerous, and she remembers why she’s here in the first place. She can do this. She pulls herself up to balance on the edge of the trailer so she can get a direct sight. Her shot is quick and effective—the Butcher goes down soundlessly—but dodging another Butcher’s bullet sends India flying sideways from her precarious perch.

She knocks down the side of the truck, grabbing for a handle, but her short nails only screech against the metal. Her right foot bangs against something, hard, and it’s mostly luck that she manages to hit the ground the way she’s been trained, instead of falling hard on her wrists.

It’s less lucky when a Butcher’s foot connects with her head. She hears a gunshot and then nothing.

***

“Indy! India! Indy! _Pam_ —”

She blinks into the sunlight, which obscures a trio of heads hovering above her. “What—”

“You must’ve slipped—hit your head.” That’s Victor, who sounds worried.

“There was a foot that—kicked me?”

“Oh, we got _that_ guy.” Romeo. “Got ‘em all, in fact, as far as we can tell. Now we just gotta get you home. Shorty’s gonna be _pissed_ …”

“Indy—Indy, listen to me. Can you move your fingers? Toes?” Victor asks.  Her eyes have adjusted enough to see him, mostly.

She tests her digits, then her arms and legs. “Yeah, I’m okay. Killer headache, but I don’t think he broke anything.” She moves to sit up, and glares at Yankee when he moves to stop her. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. Minor concussion, at most.” She knows better than to switch out her own print to check, though.

She accepts Yankee’s hand up, and almost immediately stumbles. All three of them surge forward; Victor catches her first. “I’m _fine_. Just—okay, well, not my ankle where I banged it. But the rest of me is fine. Okay?”

The guys exchange looks. She sighs impatiently. “There’s aspirin in the med kit, and if you guys can at least help me inside, we can probably find a hospital or somewhere that’ll have crutches along the way. I’m _fine_ ; let’s just get moving before more Butchers show up and you’re a man down.”

***

The remainder of the trip back is miserable—her headache fades, but her body has a patchwork of bruises decorating it from the fall. Her ankle is sprained, and they don’t find crutches, so she’s forced to crawl or hop everywhere that someone can’t help her to, which leaves her frustrated and short-tempered. The other three are good sports, considering, but everyone breathes a sigh of relief when Yankee announces that Safe Haven is in sight. India, too fed up with everything else, starts to make her way toward the door using various unstable shelves and things for balance.

As soon as they roll to a stop, Victor and Yankee dash past her. Romeo helps her out of the back and grins when she asks where the others went. “We had that set of crutches from when Priya tripped on that stairwell before it got fixed that time—remember? Right when we first got here? And it was just Echo and Ballard doing runs?” India nods. “Yeah, so, Vic figured the faster we could hook you up, the better.” She grins.

India hasn’t been on crutches since a misstep in gym class in the eighth grade, but she remembers enough of the concept to hobble out of the truck and back toward the house with some momentum. She’s barely two yards away, though, when Jim runs up and skids to a stop in front of her so short it’s almost comedic. Words pour out of him in a flood.

“Are you—what happened? They said you hurt yourself—crutches—you can’t walk? How—I’m so sorry how we left things—you _left_ —we didn’t—and then they said you were hurt and I thought—”

He pauses to breathe and looks up to see her smiling. They’re going to be okay.

“Hey.”

“Hey. What happened to you? I thought we had a deal here, Beesley.”

Her smile widens a little. “I just banged my ankle. Everybody’s making a fuss. I’m _fine_!”

“She conked out for a couple of minutes there, too!” Romeo volunteers helpfully, appearing beside Jim to clap him on the shoulder. “She’ll be okay, though. Why don’t you just get her inside and see if there’s something cold for that, huh?”

“Hey, Rome?” she says, testing her weight on each crutch. He looks at her, and she pushes off the ground with her good foot, balancing on the crutches, and kicks him squarely in the chest.

Romeo stumbles backwards and coughs, “What was that for?”

“Stop mothering me!” She sees Jim hiding a grin behind his hand and grins, too. “And I know I didn’t even bruise you, you big baby. But not helping with the unpacking seems fair.”

Jim follows her inside and waits below while she navigates the stairs. When she’s successfully on her way, he asks, “Seriously, what happened? Are you really going to be okay?”

“Yes! _God_. We ran into some Butchers, I fell off the truck, bonked my ankle on the way down. And I only got knocked out because some Butcher kicked me, I landed fine…and I will be fine. And before you get worked up, remember that I’m here and talking to you and _fine_.” At the top of the stairwell now, she wiggles her wrist with the tech at him. “I can be a very good doctor, and I’m my favorite patient. Should be walking again in a few weeks.”

“And in the meantime?”

“And in the meantime, I get to stay here. Not like I’m useful out there with a bum ankle, and…well, I guess it gives you and me some time, too. To talk, I mean.”

He follows her into the bedroom and moves her crutches out of the way once she sits down on the bed. “Yeah? I mean—yeah. I thought, well, I think we both kind of overreacted, but I’m not—I don’t want to lose you over this, because it seems kind of silly to, like, break up with someone who wants to protect me—who loves me— _that_ much. You know?”

“I do. And—killing him didn’t mean nothing. I just, I was more worried about you. I’m always more worried about you. And if that kind of overwhelmed everything else…”

“Yeah, it kind of did. And, I guess, you were just so, like, clinical about the body? It wasn’t really what I expected, and I…well, it really just seemed like you didn’t care.”

“I mean, we get what we can off of Butchers and whatever if we have to—that’s not new to me. Once they’re down…they’re all just bodies, you know? This whole time, we all keep saying that ourselves are all we really have. I mean, I think it’s true, and—well, without a person there, they really are just bodies. And I’m never gonna feel guilty about keeping you safe. Ever.”

“Hard to argue with that. But…is it okay if I’m still a little…eh…about you killing a guy? Even if it was the right thing to do and for the right reasons and everything?”

She isn’t really sure what to say to that, but it’s as close as they’re likely to get to a resolution in one conversation, so she nods. He leans in to kiss her, and they forget entirely about Romeo’s suggestion for a while.


	6. A billion eyes are watching, fossilized

As promised, India’s up and walking again six weeks later. The truck makes two return trips in that time, and by the third, two months after the accident, she’s fit and more than ready to report for duty. She and Jim have a full night to say goodbye, at least, and she makes sure to do it properly this time. As she steers the truck away, she tries not to think about how, though they had talked, they never quite moved past that first conversation.

A few weeks later, they return and everything changes.

Apparently Victor and Echo had wired a distress signal into the truck’s dashboard and neglected to tell anyone. Kilo had seen a completely unfamiliar blue light flashing, and they had nearly made it to full-on disaster mode before Victor explained anything.

They’re still pissed at him by the time they roll back into Safe Haven half a day later, but they don’t set off any tripwires when they come in, which puts everyone on edge and nudges aside personal disputes for a later time. 

The unfamiliar Jeep in the driveway is the first tip that something is very off; there’s movement in the house but no violent noise, which is only a little reassuring. The fact that Echo, Paul, Topher, two new Actuals, and a little kid claiming to be Caroline Farrell are at Safe Haven is better.

India lets out a sigh of relief on seeing that Jim is fine, but the crowd of people trying to figure out what’s going on overwhelms any real reunion. They squeeze into the kitchen to hear the rest Echo’s report, about the Actuals’ inadvertent discovery of the L.A. Dollhouse, and Topher’s babbling mixed in with an explanation of how the whole world might actually come back into being.

To India’s ears, everything sounds muted, like it’s coming through toned-down speakers, and her pounding pulse almost drowns it out. But their de facto leaders—Adelle, Echo, and Victor—all agree on the next steps with hardly any discussion. Before the idea that they might be saving the world directly in a matter of hours has fully taken hold of her, they’re loading the truck with supplies for a dozen people and the journey back to Los Angeles.

India runs on automatic, knowing without thinking what’s needed and where. Her mind is elsewhere, trying to wrap her head around what’s going to happen. The thought of going back into L.A. is near-paralyzing on its own—India hasn’t been near there since coming to Safe Haven the first time, when she was still just Pam, alone and terrified of a world that had ended while she wasn’t there.

Fears she thought she’d conquered years ago start to bubble up, and that’s when her thoughts really start to race. She’s not worried about Topher’s idea not working—that leaves them no worse off than now. But if it does work—she’s obsolete, in technical terms. They all will be. India’s willing to relinquish her gun and the ability to use it if the world gets righted, but who is she now, if not India? What kind of woman is Pam Beesley when she has studs on her cheek and memories of the dead?

All this time, she’s thought her confidence was _hers_ and the tech was just a means to exercise it. What if bringing back the world means bringing back the person she was, who practically walked into Rossum’s clutches and was great at screwing up life all on her own? What if she returns to being all shaky hands and useless fear—what if those traits are on the drive Jim has and just inherently _Pam_?

And Jim—

It occurs to her in a rush that she doesn’t _have_ to return to the Dollhouse. She’ll go to the city and get the others in, yes, because that’s who she is and what she does now. The new Actuals and mini-Caroline insist that Los Angeles is a particular mess near the house, so she’s needed. But she doesn’t have to stay.

She can walk out with Adelle and let Topher’s signal wipe her slate clean like it had so many times before. She can wake up thinking it’s 2006, and, she can survive the shock a second time. Jim will help, because he’s here and he loves Pam. India can picture the look in his eyes from way back in that parking lot. He’s always loved Pam.

They’ll take care of each other. The world will be okay. It won’t need India, and neither does Jim.

***

He finds her on the floor of the kitchen, counting out rations in a frenzy and trying not to think out what happens tomorrow.

“Are you okay?”

“Upcoming suicide mission and an existential crisis. You?”

“You—hey, wait, isn’t this a good thing? You guys’ll go get Topher in, and the Butchers will be people again, and we can go back to…I mean, the year underground thing doesn’t sound awesome, but you said the Dollhouse was pretty nice, right? And those two—Zone and Mag—they said it was still in pretty good shape.” He settles on the floor next to her and starts packing what she’s sorted out into assorted crates and bags.

“I’m not going to go,” she says after a moment of silence and more sorting.

He drops the head of lettuce he’s holding. “What? Pam—you heard what Echo said, you’ll—”

“I’ll go back to being who I was. Someone who wouldn’t kill anybody, or want to leave you behind, or...well. The girl you fell in love with.”

“Pam. Pam, I fell in love with _you_. You. All over again. Here, now, like this, saving the world because you can, and somebody had to. I guess I don’t always understand everything that’s going on, but I think that’s just being human, you know? But—call yourself India or whatever you want, but I’m in love with _you_. I loved who you were in 2006, too, I guess…but that girl told me no. Broke my heart. And you—you said yes. And you keep coming back to me.

“If you really want to lose those years, it’s your choice, but don’t do it because you think I’d like you better that way. I’m going to miss you like hell, but I can wait one more year. For you? No question.” His tone leaves no room for ambiguity—it’s possibly the most sure and serious she’s ever heard him.

India only realizes she’s crying a little when a tear lands on her hand. “You…you could come with us. Priya and T’ll be there, there’s room in the truck, and if the Dollhouse can support nine of us it can handle ten…”

Jim shakes his head and takes her hands in his. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“You guys are going to do this. Everybody’s going to wake up tomorrow. And no one’s going to have a clue what happened, and most of the people who do know are going to be dead or underground. Somebody besides Adelle is going to need to be out there, you know? There aren’t a lot of people who can do that, but I can.”

She sniffles and grins a little. “Your turn to save the world, huh?”

He kisses her forehead and pulls her into a tight hug. “I learned it from you. You taught me that. And—hey, you’ll need this. If you want it, I mean.” He offers the little drive labeled _Pam_ from around his neck to her.

“I am going to miss you. So much,” she whispers. “A whole year…what if…”

“It’s not like I’m going to find anyone else, Beesley. And hey, same deal—you keep yourself safe and I’ll be here when you come back.”

***

The trip to L.A. is itself uneventful. India claims the crow’s nest, figuring the trip is better spent with something to do, rather than deal with the inevitable drama unfolding below.

Victor had claimed the driver’s seat, but that likely won’t keep Priya away, especially in anticipation of being cooped up together for months. Kilo had made enough comments about the female Actual, Mag, that India suspected her friend would probably need space when it turned out the other woman wasn’t gay—in which case Romeo would probably be making a go at her.

Yankee was probably being his usual laconic self, but given the assortment of other passengers, there was bound to be trouble of some kind. The Actuals would have questions, Topher would twitch and rant while Adelle fretted over him, mini-Caroline would clash with her real body’s other inhabitants, Paul would get into a staring contest with someone…

It was definitely better on the roof.

She’s still unsteady.  Her existential crisis isn’t really resolved, and likely won’t be for a good long while. But Jim’s words buoy her, and, she thinks, there’s no shame in that, no matter how hard she’s worked to do that for herself. And she’s got a whole year to figure out what the woman who leaves the Dollhouse this time will be—as well as to practice shooting and her right hook, sans tech.

When they hit city limits, India ducks back inside the truck without argument on just about everyone’s insistence. They all know the place will be crawling with too many Butchers, and Mag and Zone know where to direct Victor to drive, so being the lookout is more dangerous than useful now.

Instead, she prepares for the fight toward the subway tunnel that Echo thinks will lead them to their destination. Everyone except T bustles around loading guns, agreeing on tactics, and trying not to be too unnerved by the nine-year-old girl barking orders. It’s comforting, in a left-handed sort of way, to know that a battle is coming—that, at least, she knows how to handle.

The whole thing is over in a matter of minutes. India is the first one into the tunnel, and she stays by the entrance holding a flare while everyone else clambers down from the slaughterhouse outside. She counts thirteen people, including herself, and looks wildly around for Paul until she catches sight of Echo.

Echo’s relationship to Paul has never been clear, at least not to India, but the look on her face and the desperation in her voice as she shrieks, “That’s all of us!” is, India thinks, about what she would probably look like if Jim had just been gunned down by a swarm of Butchers. The other woman looks worse than even Mag, bleeding from the knees and screaming, does.

But it’s not the time to mourn Paul Ballard or worry about Jim. The shock of Alpha and his flock of Dumbshows makes her momentarily forget their actual mission, which ends up leaving her to explain things to the ex-psychopath as everyone else scatters to do their own work.

India has hardly spent any time with Alpha, which unnerves her a bit, but he just nods quietly as she talks. “Sounds…promising,” he says when she’s done. “And it’s Topher, so batshit crazy or not, it’ll probably work.” He turns to gaze at the empty bodies milling around. “If you can start herding them toward the garage exit, that’s probably the best way out. DeWitt and that Actual guy can usher them out before the signal happens.”

“What about you?” India asks, her curiosity getting the best of her nerves. “Do you want to remember everything, or to—forget?”

Alpha doesn’t seem to be addressing her directly. “You kidding? I’m on the first train out of here. Time to be just one person, if I can be, and that guy needs to be far, far away from all the other nice people.” He’s still looking out at the many Dumbshows. “I’ll go help with the tech, if they need a bridge between sanity and…Topher Brink. Garage,” he reminds her, and is gone.

“I try to be my best,” a Japanese man with hope in his voice who can’t be over twenty years old tells her. “Am I my best?”

India takes a deep breath to steady herself. Is this really how she had been—how all of them had been? How the hell had Topher held onto sanity for so long? At least the Dumbshows are agreeable—that makes her job easier. “Yes. And you—you can follow me. Everyone can follow me.” She raises her voice so the whole herd of them can hear her. “If you want to be your best, come with me to the garage. All of you—this way!”

It takes longer than she initially expected, even with help from Zone and mini-Caroline—the Dumbshows are plenty docile, but their wiped minds are easily confused, and a couple stragglers inevitably get lost with every turn they make. All two dozen of them sit obediently in the garage when India asks, though, and she returns to the others, leaving Zone and mini-Caroline to keep an eye on them and wait for Adelle.

The main room is darker now—the motion-sensor lights must have switched off—but there’s a dim, unsteady light that she realizes is a small, contained fire. She finds Victor nearby, feeding what looks like print drives into the fire. He looks glum, which is odd.

India settles in next to her friend, staring at the flames for a peaceful, hypnotic moment. It’s several seconds before he notices her and another several before he says, “You got the flock out?”

“Yeah, they’re ready to go. Unless one of them got a mind for rebellion, I guess.”

Victor snorted. “With Alpha and Echo, I can’t imagine _now_ would be the time we’d find a third freakshow on their level.”

They fall back into silence.

“Vic, why are we burning tech?”

“I think it’s just Tony now.”

She stares in shock. “What? Did Priya—”

He shakes his head. “It’s not Priya, it’s just…time. Time for all this—for us—to be obsolete. There’s a world out there that I want to be ready to rebuild with my own two hands. You know?”

“I do,” she says, and offers him her own necklaces, keeping _Pam_ separate. He hands it back to her, and she chucks _Agriculture_ in. The motion feels like a ritual, and it’s more cathartic than it looked. She throws another drive in, not bothering to check which one it is. “So why the long face? It…well, not to jinx anything, but it kind of seems like we won. Or we’re about to, anyway. I mean—right?”

He sighs. “So you didn’t know what Kilo was going to do, then?”

India’s pulse ramps back up. “Oh my God, no—what happened?”

“Apparently she and Romeo just wanted to come for more prints. Wanted to keep ‘ruling the Wasteland,’ they said.” Victor—Tony—tosses another chip into the fire. “I didn’t know we were ruling anything. But Kilo almost shot Topher to stop him. I punched Romeo out myself. I never thought I’d say this, but thank God Alpha was there. And Echo. More hands made that quick. Anyway, they’re both in the infirmary with the chick who got her knees shot up, if you want to see them.”

“And this is their tech?” It feels like a violation, as much as her friends’— _her friends_ —betrayal does.

“I put their original prints aside. Mine’s already back in. They’ll be Maurissa and Christian again, and they’ll deal. Like people do. Like the whole world is going to have to do. Techheads and Dumbshows and Butchers and everybody else. Just being human again.”

“And Yankee?”

“He’s leaving with Adelle and the others. Said it’s time to mourn Ayelet for real and get a fresh start.”

“I think Alpha’s going, too.”

“Yeah.”

India thinks it might be a little unfair to force Kilo and Romeo back into their old minds, but he’s right—the new-old world won’t have a place for them. And it won’t be a place for her either—at least, not as India.

With that thought, she plucks the drive with her name on it from where it was nestled beneath her armor, against her skin like Jim had worn it for all those months. Tony watches her as she loads _Pam_ into her disc and then into her head. The motion is fluid as ever but slower and more deliberate than any since her first few times doing this.

India closes her eyes for the last time and twists the disc. The accompanying shudder rolls through her body, and she opens her eyes.

The first thing that Pamela Morgan Beesley sees is T approaching with a hesitant Priya, who looks softer and almost apologetic. The first thing that she thinks is that Pam isn’t the only one who’s had to wait too long for her soulmate to come back.

Pam squeezes Tony’s hand and chucks the last of her tech into the fire. She smiles at Priya and slips away with the personal drives Victor had put aside. It’s time to go see how Maurissa and Christian are faring after all this time.


	7. They see what remains

It’s a long year.

After their frenetic arrival, at least, things settle down quickly. Time passes in drips and trickles, denoted only by the hands on an atomic clock in what had been the Topher’s programming room. T learns basic math by counting the days that go by and figuring out how many remain. Even the most natural-looking lighting flicks on and off with the motion sensors at any time of day, and everyone’s circadian rhythms are off within a week.

They fill the hours with mostly practical tasks, especially at first. Dismantling and destroying the remaining tech proves unexpectedly challenging, as they can’t actually dispose of anything except by fire, which mucks with the self-contained systems. Alpha kept the hydroponic garden and food stocks in decent shape, but the former needs regular tending to and the latter requires careful rationing. Adelle’s long-ago investment in her Dolls’ wellbeing pays off in the form of assorted vitamins and supplements that keep them as healthy and nourished as they can be in these circumstances, but that too requires attention.

Maurissa and Christian are sullen and distant for a while, but they learn to deal, as predicted. Tony lets them come around to becoming themselves in their own time. When they do, after a few months, the four of them gather silently in Topher’s old office with a soldering iron. They take turns melting each other’s studs into flattened little slabs with softened edges that look more decorative than dangerous. The whole thing takes on a ceremonial feel, and when Pam leaves the room, face still burning, there’s a sense of finality and closure she hadn’t known she wanted.

Everyone has skills to learn or relearn. Even Priya has to work not to resent Echo on that front as she schools them in punching, shooting, and doctoring. Mag is a good enough sport to submit to various inexpert sutures and bandaging experiments, and it feels like a group victory when she starts to walk again.

As for the fighting skills, Pam is surprised and delighted to find that, while her aim is as terrible as she remembers, her hands are steady. Her mind is clear and confident.  With practice, she may never be quite as lethal as India had been, but she can still protect herself—and Jim, too, one day.

Pam thinks about Jim a lot, but she’s conscious of how her tweaked mind, re-flooded with Dwight’s emergency preparedness lectures and Phyllis’s horrible perfumes, forms her memories of him. They feel more real and whole, even if there’s no new information. There are still days she misses the ease of simply knowing things, or wakes up reaching for a gun that isn’t beside her. But as she relearns Pam Beesley, she is pleased and proud to find she was right, in the end, to insist all along that she’s wasn’t all that different from India.

Echo spends a lot of time on her own. Pam figures it gets less boring when you can literally have conversations with yourself, but it makes more sense when she finds out about the _Paul_ print that Alpha left behind. Maurissa finally gets the nice girl she’d waited for in the form of Mag, who turns out to very much like women. No one knows what Christian does with his alone time.

Priya and Tony and T become the little family they should have been all along. She drifts back into friendship with Pam and the others—slow and cautious at first, then with the free-spirited openness they had all thought she lost years ago. Everyone takes turns teaching T whatever they happen to know about—Mag in particular, with her advanced degrees—and his seventh birthday is the one time they break out extra rations and waste a few matches.

It’s team-building in warm, natural way that could never have happened in the truck, and though the feeling of captivity never really goes away, the Dollhouse at some point starts to seem more like a home (albeit a temporary one) than a bright and Asian-spa-inspired prison. She feels peaceful and content—if more than a little bored—most of the time.

They learn the sounds of each other’s footsteps and adjust to wearing yoga clothes instead of makeshift armor. They bicker and laugh and try not to lean on each other too heavily. They speculate what the repaired and reborn world outside is growing into and don’t talk about the darker alternatives.

When Priya’s stomach starts to swell about ten months into their stay, it’s like seeing the first flowers bloom in the spring. The only thing really missing is Jim.

***

Thirteen months, one week, and five days after Topher’s shockwave, Pam hears unfamiliar footsteps coming from the direction of the garage exit.

As she approaches, sliding along walls on bare and almost silent feet, she realizes she’s hearing the sound of strangers’ gaits with shoes—the steps are firmer and heavier than any of the Dollhouse’s current residents. That means two things—people have broken in, and it must be safe to leave the Dollhouse, if she hasn’t been wiped yet.

Of course, there are no guarantees as to who the invaders are, whether their entrance was accidental, or if they have any idea what they’ve stumbled into. The lights aren’t on motion sensors in this area, so it’s hard to see what’s coming. There’s a brief, warm flare in her chest as she realizes she still has a job to do and people to protect. She ducks behind the last corner before the footsteps, steels herself, and leaps out into the dim light with a roundhouse kick.

Her foot connects almost immediately with someone’s chest, and her victim yelps as she knocks the wind out of him. She whirls around to land a punch in his gut and is aiming a fist in the general area of where his head should be falling when an unexpectedly familiar female voices yells, “India!”

It’s been so long since anyone called her anything but Pam that she freezes in mid-punch.

“Pamela—Pam! It’s Jim! Honestly,” Adelle DeWitt says, sounding amused more than exasperated.

Pam drops her fist like grenade and stares down as her eyes adjust to the lighting. Jim pulls himself into a sitting position, leaning back on his elbows and gasping for air. He manages to cough out, “Nice to see you, too, Beesley.”

“Jim! Oh my God—” She falls to her knees beside him. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry—I thought—we don’t exactly get visitors here and no one knew—”

He coughs again. “No permanent damage. Good to know your prints still work—everything remotely electrical up there is still kind of on the fritz.”

Pam beams. “No prints. I just learned how to kickbox. Not much else to do underground for a year.”

They’re both still smiling like idiots as he wraps a hand around her head to pull her in for a kiss. He smells different but feels the same, moving against her, and she can feel her skin flushing everywhere it’s exposed.

“Well, this is touching and all, but we have a few other people to find here, am I right?” Zone asks from somewhere behind Adelle.

“Yes, we do,” Adelle replies, and marches past Pam and Jim like she still owns the place. Pam supposes she does. Zone follows, shooting them a quick grin, and then they’re alone.

“You’re really okay?”

“I’m really fine. Maybe a bruise, but you weren’t wearing shoes or anything, so…”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Save it, Beesley. We’re here. We’re alive. I’ve been waiting for thirteen months and then some to get to kiss you again, so hang on a sec—”

He swoops in to make good on his word and she giggles. “So, everything’s…good? Up there? We did it, right?”

“We did it. I mean, it’s like the Oregon Trail with less dysentery, but it’s a world, with real people and everything. Adelle’s running the show, obviously, and she’s had me and Zone on the road, basically doing, like, a census and letting people know what happened and connecting everyone. We even found a working horse ranch in one of the Dakotas, so there’s kind of a Pony Express for trading and mail and all that.”

“Wow. That’s…amazing. You’re like a traveling salesman all over again.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty awesome. Oh, and—my niece! Alyssa. My brother Tom’s daughter—he and Michelle were long gone, but she’s sixteen and she’s alive and she’s great. Except the hair. She had Ashley do all those little braids and they look kinda silly on her. But don’t tell her I said that. You’re gonna love her.” His eyes are sparkling—it’s as happy as she’s ever seen him, in any lifetime—and his excitement is palpable and contagious.

“I bet I will. Jim, that’s just—”

“And…there’s more. I—well, we found your mom.”

Pam actually stops breathing for a second. “You—you found my mom?”

“Unless there’s another Helene Beesley with a daughter named Pam who recognized me as the guy who kind of ruined a certain wedding a while back…”

“You found my mom. Oh my God. You found my mom. What happened? Is she—?”

“Well, she got hit by a stray print not that long after the Call, so she spent most of the time as a woman named Jenny on this random settlement in the Florida panhandle, of all places. So after the Return—that’s what everyone’s calling it—it’s not like she really knew anybody she was with, and they didn’t really trust her, with the wrong birthmark and all that. And then when Zone and I got there and we figured everything out, she just came with.”

“So—my mom.  She’s all right, she’s safe?”

“Yep. She’s outside, actually, in the Jeep with Alyssa. Adelle thought we should minimize the number of people to come in—she didn’t want to freak any of you guys out with new faces. Good thing, too, since you were feeling extra kicky today.”

As prepared and purposeful as she had felt mere minutes ago, Pam’s mind is exactly that blank right now. It must show on her face, because Jim kisses her gently and says, “So, brave new world out there, plus your mom. And my niece. And a whole lot of people who have you to thank. Want to check it out?”

“Absolutely, I do.”

He rises and offers her a hand up, which she takes. “Anything you need to grab? Like, I don’t know, shoes?”

Pam shakes her head and stands up. “I’ll go back for them.”

“Well, then, Beesley, don’t let me keep you.”

Hand in hand, they run down the hallway, up the stairs, and toward the door that she closed over a year ago behind all of those Dumbshows—all of them people again now. When they reach the door, she kisses him once more, turns the knob, and jumps through.

Pam opens her eyes into impossibly bright sunshine, and everything begins again.

**Author's Note:**

> My sincerest thanks go to [red_b_rackham](http://red-b-rackham.livejournal.com/), my endlessly upbeat beta, who assured me that India would be a character worth reading about and that, yes, other people would be interested in a crossover between these two rather disparate fandoms. 
> 
> To [susanmarier](http://susanmarier.livejournal.com/), a very talented artist whose [work accompanies this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/492843)...wow. Just, wow.
> 
> I also have to thank [_starrystarry](http://_starrystarry.livejournal.com/), friend and beautiful ~~nurse~~ future lawyer, who made me believe I could do this for real and who makes me glad to be in fandom on a regular basis.
> 
> Story and chapter titles are taken from the song "[Remains](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Remains_\(song\))," for which Maurissa Tancharoen and Jed Whedon get all the credit. I don't own anyone or anything you recognize.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Momentum Building (CoverArt)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/492843) by [SusanMarieR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanMarieR/pseuds/SusanMarieR)




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